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Messrs.  Xooeru  Broc/iers   Publications. 


LIVES    OF    EXEMPLARY  WOMEN. 

Messrs.  ROBERTS'  BROS,  are  publishing  a  series  of  Lives  of  Exemplary 
Women,  uniform  in  size  and  price.  The  first  volume  is 

fltEMOIRS  AND  CORRESPONDENCE  OF  MADAME 
RECAMIER.  Translated  from  the  French  and  edited  by  Miss 
LUYSTER.  With  a  fine  portrait  of  Madame  Re"camier.  Sixth  edition. 
One  handsome  12mo  volume.  Price  $  2.00. 

"  Her  own  contributions  to  it  are  exceedingly  brief,  but  her  individuality  permeates  the 
whole  work  and  gives  it  unity.  She  was  undoubtedly  a  woman  of  genius ;  but  it  was  in  hei 
life  alone,  in  her  noble  friendships,  in  her  unselfish  devotion  to  all  bound  to  her  by  any  ties, 
that  gave  her  genius  expression,  and  it  is  only  fair,  therefore,  that  she  should  attain  immor- 
tality not  through  the  labor  or  her  own  spirit,  but  rather  through  the  praise  of  those  by 
whom  she  was  so  well  beloved."  —  Virginia  Vaughan  in  "  Hie  Leader." 

The  second  volume  is 

LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  MADAME  SWETCHINE.  By 
COUNT  DE  FALLOUX.  Translated  by  Miss  Preston.  Fourth  edition. 
In  one  volume.  12mo.  Price  $  2.00. 

"  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Madame  Swetchine,  is  a  companion  volume  to  Mme.  Recamier, 
and  both  works  give  us  two  phases  of  contemporary  Paris  life,  aud  two  characters  that, 
with  some  accidental  resemblances,  present  strong  points  of  contrast. 

"  The  social  influence  both  women  exercised  was  good,  but  when  we  compare  the  two, 
Madame  Recamier's  sinks  to  a  much  lower  level.  She  (Madame  R.)  was  gentle  and  kind, 
ready  to  sacrifice  herself  to  any  extent  to  advance  the  material  influence  of  her  friends,  but 
she  was  essentially  a  worldly  woman ;  whereas  Madame  Swetchine  was  '  in  the  world  but 
not  of  it.'  She  exerted  an  immense  spiritual  as  well  as  intellectual  influence  on  all  who 
approached  her,  and  raised  her  friends  to  her  own  level.  Madame  Recamier  made  her  asso- 


persons,  and  as  a  book  of  reference  is  more  valuable.  We  frequently  meet  the  same  people 
in  each,  and  in  this  respect  they  serve  to  illustrate  and  explain  each  other."  —  Pro»ndenco 
Journal. 

The  third  volume  is 

THE  FRIENDSHIPS  OF  WOMEN.    By  REV.  W.  R.  ALGER. 
Fourth  edition.    One  volume,  12mo.    Price  $2.00. 

"  Mr.  Alger  is  among  our  most  diligent  students  and  earnest  thinkers ;  and  this  volume 


content  with  what  he  has  already  accomplished.  His  '  Friendships  of  Women,'  for  many 
reasons,  will  have  a  wide  circle  of  readers,  and  cannot  fail  to  increase  our  sense  of  the 
worth  of  human  nature,  as  it  enthusiastically  delineates  some  of  its  most  elevated  manifes- 
tations. By  telling  what  woman  has  been,  he  tells  what  woman  may  be;  intellectually  aa 
well  as  morally,  in  the  beauty  of  her  mind  as  well  as  in  the  affections  of  her  heart,  and  the 
loveliness  of  her  person."  —  Salem  Gazette. 

The  fourth  volume  is 

SAINT    BEUVE'S    PORTRAITS    OF    CELEBRATED 
'WOMEN. 

MADAME  DE  SEVIONE.  MADAME  DE  DURAS. 

MADAME  DE  LA  FATETTE.  MADAME  DE  REMUS  AT. 

MADAME  DE  SODZA.  MADAME  DE  KRUDENER. 

MADAME  ROLAND.  MADAME  OUIZOT. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

To  match  "  Madame  Re"camier,"  «'  Madame   Swetchine,"  and  "  The 
Friendships  of  Women."    In  one  volume,  12mo.    Price  $2.00. 


49-  Mailed^  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  the 

Publishers. 


THE    LIFE    AND    LETTERS 

OF 

MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

BY   COUNT   DE   FALLOUX. 

TRANSLATED    BY    H.    W.    PRESTON. 
Sixth  edition.     1  vol.  16ino.     Price  $2.00. 


MADAME  SWETCHINE. 

BY  LUCY  LARCOM. 

A  well-written  history  of  an  excellent  and  gifted  woman,  like  the  * ;  Life  and 
Letters  of  Madame  Swetchine,-'  by  Count  de  Falloux,  will  naturally  meet  with  a 
welcome  among  people  of  the  truest  culture.  Madame  Swetchine  was  not  a 
woman  who  courted  publicity  ;  but  the  thread  of  her  life  was  so  interwoven  with 
the  political  and  religious  movements  of  her  time,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
escape  notice.  And  it  brightens  that  dark  period  of  strife  between  France  and 
Russia,  with  which  the  present  century  opened,  to  follow  the  life-track  of  this 
Russian  lady,  who  seemed  to  hare  been  equally  at  home  in  both  countries. 

She  was  intimately  acquainted  with  the  noblest  men  and  women  of  that  re- 
markable period,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  upon  whom  her  friendship  does  not 
cast  a  beautiful  glow. 

She  was  one  of  those  rare  beings  who  seem  to  have  been  created  to  draw  out 
what  is  best  in  others,  by  the  power  of  sympathy  and  self-forge tfulness.  She  was 
a  woman  of  uncommon  intellect,  and  of  wide  reading  ;  and  every  thing  she  read 
was  brought  to  the  standard  of  a  judgment  remarkably  clear  and  penetrative  ; 
indeed,  her  conversion  to  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  seems  to  have  been  mostly  a 
matter  of  the  head,  —  a  choice  between  the  Greek  and  the  Roman  ecclesiasticisms. 
Long  before  her  decision  was  made,  her  life  shows  her  to  have  been  a  humble  and 
earnest  Christian ;  and,  as  such,  as  one  whose  sympathies  took  wing  higher  and 
wider  than  the  opinions  in  which  she  had  caged  herself,  her  history  has  a  rare  value. 

One  wonders  at  the  amount  of  good  accomplished  by  her,  always  a  weak  in- 
valid. In  order  to  understand  how  she  lived,  and  what  she  did,  the  book  must  be 
read  through ;  but  some  extracts  might  give  a  hint  of  it :  — 

"She  rarely  gave  what  is  called  advice,  —  an  absolute  solution  of  a  given 
problem  :  her  humility  made  her  shrink  from  direct  responsibilities.  She  did  not 
lecture  you.  She  did  not  set  herself  up  as  a  model  or  guide.  She  did  not  say, 
'  Walk  thus ; '  but  sweetly.  '  Let  us  walk  together ; '  and  so,  without  making  the 
slightest  pretensions,  she  often  guided  those  she  seemed  to  follow.  Young  and 
old  acknowledged  her  sway.  She  never  evoked  a  sentiment  of  rivalry,  because  no 
one  ever  detected  in  her  a  temptation  to  win  admiration  at  the  expense  of  others, 
or  to  eclipse  any  person  whatever.  Her  disinterestedness  won  pardon  for  her 
superiority 

u  Sick  and  erring  hearts  came  and  revealed  themselves  to  Madame  Swetchine 
in  all  sincerity  ;  and  she  shed  upon  them,  sweetly  and  gradually,  light  and  truth 
and  life. 

"  In  her  turn  she  drew  from  this  intimate  intercourse,  added  to  her  own  ex- 
quisite penetration,  a  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  which  amounted  almost  to 
divination.  She  knew  the  science  of  the  soul  as  physicians  know  that  of  the  body. 

"  Her  charity  was  not  a  careless  and  mechanical  practice.  She  consecrated 
to  it  all  her  strength  and  all  her  skill.  Almsgiving  was  not,  with  her,  the  mere 
fulfilment  of  a  duty.  She  liked  to  give  pleasure  besides  doing  good,  and  her 
heart  always  added  something  to  what  her  hand  gave." 

Madame  Swetchine  lived  a  little  beyond  the  boundaries  of  threescore  and  ten. 
It  is  only  ten  years  since  she  died.  Heaven  does  not  ask  to  what  communion  she 
belonged,  neither  will  posterity.  The  memory  of  her  saintliness  is  a  possession 
to  the  church  universal,  in  the  present  and  in  the  future.  Such  a  record  as  hers 
is  an  inspiration  to  all  who  read ;  such  an  example,  the  most  imperative  "  Go 
thou  and  do  likewise." 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  postpaid ',  by  the  publishers. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE   WRITINGS 


OF 


MADAME[SWETCHINK 


EDITED    BY 

COUNT  DE  FALLOUX, 

OF   THE   FRENCH   ACADEMY. 


TRANSLATED    BY    H.    W.    PRESTON. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS. 
1869. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE : 
OF  JOHN  WILSON  AND   SON. 


5 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE. 


HPHE  favor  with  which  the  "  Life  and  Letters  of 
Madame  Swetchine "  was  received  by  the  pub- 
lic, has  induced  the  belief  that  some  portion  of  her 
graver  writings  might  also  awaken  general  interest. 
No  woman  of  our  time  has  felt  more  deeply,  or 
reasoned  more  keenly,  on  subjects  of  supreme  mo- 
ment, than  she;  few  women  of  any  time  have 
possessed  in  a  more  remarkable  degree  the  gift  of 
gracious  and  vivid  expression.  The  story  of  her 
early  doubts  and  struggles  was  told  in  the  previous 
volume :  in  this  we  have  the  fruit  of  her  self- con- 
quest, the  gentle  admonitions  of  her  ripened  wisdom, 
the  last  serene  results  of  her  rich  opportunities  and  her 
reverent  life.  It  is  hoped  that  these  pages  may  find 


VI  TRANSLATOR  S   NOTE. 

a  welcome  with  all  who  love  experimental  no  less 
than  speculative  truth,  and  who  recognize  the  essen- 
tial unity,  under  whatever  name  or  form,  of  all 
profound  religious  experience. 

HARRIET  W.  PRESTON. 
DANVERS,  Sept.  1,  1869. 


TABLE     OF    CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PREFACE   1 

AIRELLES. 

KLUKVA  PODSNEJNAIA 3 

AIRELLES 4 

ON  Music 34 

ON  THE  FIRMAMENT 35 

ON  NATURE 36 

ON  COURTESY 38 

THOUGHTS. 
CHAPTER  I. 
ON  HERSELF.  —  ON  GOD. — ON  THE  SOUL.  —  ON  THE 

INTELLECT 41 

CHAPTER  II. 

ON  THE  WORLD.  —  ON  THE  AFFECTIONS.  —  ON  DIF- 
FERENT AGES.  —  ON  POLITICS 57 

PAGES  SELECTED  FROM  AN  ALBUM 82 

ON  THE  REPROACH  OF  EXCLUSIVENESS  AS  INCURRED 

BY  THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH 84 

ON  THE  CHURCH  AND  HER  FORM 87 

ON   OLD   AGE. 

COMPILER'S  DEDICATION 92 

NUNC  DIMITTIS 130 

CHRISTIANITY,  PROGRESS,  AND  CIVILIZATION      ...  131 


VI 11  TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 


ON   RESIGNATION. 

PAGE 
PREFACE 142 

CHAPTER  I. 
ON  RESIGNATION  APART  FROM  CHRISTIANITY      .     .     .     144 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  JUSTICE  AND  PROPRIETY  OF  RESIGNATION. — ITS 

DIFFERENT  DEGREES 162 

CHAPTER  III. 
ON  THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  SUBMISSION 174 

CHAPTER  IV. 
ON  RESIGNATION  TO  SO-CALLED  IRREPARABLE  ILLS      .     186 

CHAPTER  V. 

ON   THE  DIFFICULTY   OF  RESIGNATION  TO   SORROWS 

CAUSED  BY  OUR  FELLOW-BEINGS 198 

CHAPTER  VI. 

How,  IN  THE  WORLD  AND  OUT  OF  IT,  EVERY  THING 
AND  EVERY  BEING,  EXCEPT  MAN,  ACCOMPLISHES 
GOD'S  WILL,  AND  KEEPS  IN  THE  PLACE  ASSIGNED  IT  211 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THAT  THERE  is  AN  EXCESS  OF  GRIEF  WHICH  BELIES 

THE  WORDS  OF  SUBMISSION  ........     223 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Is  RESIGNATION  COMPATIBLE  WITH  PRAYER,  THAT  GOD 
WILL  REMOVE  THE  EviL  WHICH  AFFLICTS  OR 
THREATENS  US? 241 

CONCLUSION 251 


WRITINGS   OF  MADAME   SWETCHINE. 


COMPILER'S  PREFACE. 

volume  contains  what  may  be  called  the 
works  of  Madame  Swetchine,  unless  that 
term  implies  a  degree  of  premeditation  which  she 
never  entertained. 

The  pages  denominated  w  Airelles," —  a  title  of 
Madame  Swetchine's  own  selection,  —  and  those 
only,  were  carefully  collected  by  herself,  and  copied 
into  a  small  volume. 

The  "Pensees,"  and  the  succeeding  pages,  even 
those  which  bear  the  name  of  "  Treatise,"  were  writ- 
ten at  different  times,  without  any  fixed  plan  or 
reliable  dates,  upon  loose  leaves,  thrust  successively 
into  an  envelope,  or  rolled  into  a  shapeless  bundle, 
and  confined  by  a  pin.  The  writing  is  invariably 
very  rapid,  and  often  almost  illegible,  much  of  it 
being  in  pencil. 

The  "  Treatise  on  Old  Age  "  was  far  from  being 
finished  according  to  the  author's  ideas.  It  was 
necessary,  before  publication,  to  cut  out  certain  frag- 
ments, which  were  but  summary  indications  of  points 
of  view  to  which  Madame  Swetchine  proposed  to 

1 


2  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

return ;  also  some  unfinished  inquiries  and  imperfect 
sentences. 

The  "  Treatise  on  Resignation  "  is  more  connected 
and  complete.  It  is  divided  into  chapters,  which 
have  already  received  their  titles  :  but  it  is  not  fin- 
ished ;  and  the  multitude  of  indices  shows  us  that 
the  author  intended  to  retouch  it  in  every  part. 

This  labor,  now  of  correction,  now  of  co-ordina- 
tion,—  always  deeply  respectful  of  Madame  Swet- 
chine's  own  primary  thought,  whenever  it  is  distinctly 
revealed,  —  has  required  prodigious  sagacity,  pa- 
tience, and  devotion.  I  have  a  right  to  insist  upon 
these  merits,  for  they  are  in  no  sense  mine.  Constant 
trouble  with  my  eyes  has  prevented  me  from  reading 
or  writing  for  several  years  ;  and  I  have  been  obliged 
to  call  to  my  assistance  other  friends  of  Madame 
Swetchine,  who  have  been  willing  to  be  mine  as 
well. 

I  should  not  allow  myself  this  personal  confidence, 
did  not  the  strict  fulfilment  of  my  duty  towards  these 
friends  require  it.  I  had  only  one  way  of  discharg- 
ing my  debt,  — to  place  their  names  beside  hers. 

I  venture  to  hope  that  the  public  will  sympathize 
with  my  feeling,  if  I  select  each  one  of  my  fellow- 
laborers  for  a  tribute  of  gratitude  with  regard  to  that 
portion  of  the  work  which  he  has  especially  helped 
to  illustrate. 

A.  DE  FALLOUX. 


AIRELLES. 

KLUKVA  PODSNEJNAIA. 

(AN  AlRELLE1  WHICH   HAS   BEEN   UNDER  THE    SNOW.) 


Airelle  is  distinguished  from  all  the  others 
by  its  shape  and  its"  corolla.  It  is  common  in 
all  the  northern  marshes  of  Europe,  Asia,  and  even 
America,  where  it.  creeps  over  the  moss  with  its 
loosely  trailing  stems.  It  blossoms  in  Russia  in  the 
month  of  June,  and  the  fruit  ripens  in  October  ;  but 
it  is  tart  at  this  season,  and  to  sweeten  it,  they  let  it 
remain  under  the  snow  through  the  winter,  and 
gather  it  the  ensuing  spring.  Hence  its  name, 
podsnejnaia,  —  that  which  has  been  under  the  snow. 
Under  the  auspices  of  this  simple  flower,  I  have 
placed  the  following  thoughts.  They,  too,  have 
ripened  under  the  snows,  and  taken  their  hue,  like 
this  little  red  berry,  from  the  fires  of  the  interior  sun. 
The  most  of  them  were  committed  to  writing  during 
the  winter  of  1811,  which  I  passed  in  the  country, 
in  profound  retirement.  They  are  utterances  which 
sprang  from  my  own  heart,  but  reached  no  other  ; 
impressions  which  clothed  themselves  in  images  to 
people  my  solitude. 

1  The  Vaccinium  Vitis  Idsea,  or  Cowberry. 


WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 


AIKELLES. 

I. 

Let  our  lives  be  pure  as  snow-fields,  where  our 
footsteps  leave  a  mark,  but  not  a  stain. 

II. 

In  the  season  when  nature  is  despoiled,  there  is 
no  lightest  breeze  or  breath  of  wind  which  is  not 
strong  enough  to  detach  the  leaf  from  the  tree  which 
bore  it.  So,  in  the  autumn  of  the  heart,  every 
movement  deprives  us  of  a  joy  or  a  hope. 

in. 

To  reveal  imprudently  the  spot  where  we  are 
most  sensitive  and  vulnerable,  is  to  invite  a  blow. 
The  demi-god  Achilles  admitted  no  one  to  his  con- 
fidence. 

IV. 

Happiness  and  Vice  are  mutually  exclusive  :  Hap- 
piness and  Repentance  mutually  prejudicial.  Happi- 
ness and  Virtue  clasp  hands  and  walk  together. 

v. 

When  fresh  sorrows  have  caused  us  to  take  some 
steps  in  the  right  way,  we  may  not  complain.  We 
have  invested  in  a  life  annuity,  but  the  income 
remains. 


AIRELLES.  5 

VI. 

The  mind  wears  the  colors  of  the  soul,  as  a  valet 
those  of  his  master. 

VII. 

There  are  souls  which,  like  the  pontiffs  of  the 
ancient  law,  live  only  on  the  sacrifices  they  offer. 

VIII. 

There  are  people  who  never  speak  of  themselves, 
for  fear  of  interrupting  their  own  introspection. 

IX. 

With  how  many  futile  signs  and  superstitious 
inductions  do  we  not  associate  our  destiny,  when 
impelled  by  a  strong  need  of  happiness  !  All  nature 
then  seems  to  conspire  for  or  against  us ;  and  there 
is  no  one  of  her  secrets  which  does  not  appear  to  be 
mysteriously  connected  with  our  own.  Poor  hu- 
manity !  so  dependent,  so  insignificant,  and  yet  so 
great !  Who  has  not  seen,  on  those  green  plains, 
where  the  peaceful  flocks  graze  with  all  the  ease  and 
dignity  of  tranquil  possession,  the  intelligent  being, 
—  the  being  who  is  superior  to  all  the  magnificence 
of  creation,  —  subordinating  all  his  hopes  for  the 
future  to  the  destiny  of  a  few  leaves  left  motionless, 
or  carried  away  by  the  wind ;  following  with  unquiet 
eye  the  course  of  a  cloud,  or  calling  on  the  daisy  to 
declare  the  sentiments  of  his  beloved. 


6  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

X. 

The  second  Paulus  JEmilius  had  two  sons :  the 
first  died  three  days  before  his  father's  triumph ; 
the  second,  three  days  after.  Such  is  the  universal 
fate  of  man.  He  dies  before  he  is  happy,  or  has  but 
a  few  days  in  which  to  be  so. 

XI. 

The  beings  who  appear  cold,  but  are  only  timid, 
adore  where  they  dare  to  love. 

XII. 

It  would  seem  that  by  our  sorrows  only  we  are 
called  to  a  knowledge  of  the  Infinite.  Are  we 
happy?  The  limits  of  life  constrain  us  on  all  sides. 


XIII. 


In  retirement,  the  passage  of  time  seems  accele- 
rated. Nothing  warns  us  of  its  flight.  It  is  a  wave 
which  never  murmurs,  because  there  is  no  obstacle 
to  its  flow. 

XIV. 

What  is  resignation  ?  It  is  putting  God  between 
one's  self  and  one's  grief. 

xv. 

There    is    an    English    song    beginning,    "Love 


AIRELLES.  7 

knocks  at  the  door."     He  knocks  less  often  than  he 
finds  it  open. 

XVI. 

Those  who  have  made  the  strength  born  of  pas- 
sion conducive  to  their  return  to  virtue,  are  like  the 
people  in  the  neighborhood  of  Vesuvius,  whose 
dwellings  are  constructed  out  of  the  very  lava  which 
threatened  to  destroy  them. 

XVII. 

Exaggerated  expressions  do  not  chord  with  the 
idea,  and  wound  the  ear  of  an  exact  mind. 

XVIII. 

Those  who  have  suffered  much  are  like  those  who 
know  many  languages  :  they  have  learned  to  under- 
stand and  be  understood  by  all. 

XIX. 

We  may  say  of  many  Christians,  whose  actions 
do  not  correspond  with  their  words,  "  The  voice  is 
Jacob's  voice,  but  the  hands  are  the  hands  of  Esau." 

XX. 

There  are  but  two  future  verbs  which  man  may 
appropriate  confidently  and  without  pride  :  "  I  shall 
suffer,"  arid  "I  shall  die." 


8  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XXI. 

"Do  not  pity  him  :  he  is  to  blame."  Harsh  and 
revolting  expression  !  He  is  to  blame.  The  words 
excite  my  keenest  and  most  tender  compassion.  The 
innocent,  when  oppressed  by  fate  or  by  man,  has 
two  unfailing  asylums,  God  and  his  own  conscience. 
But  the  guilty  dares  neither  lift  his  eyes  to  the 
God  whom  he  has  offended,  nor  descend  into  him- 
self, where  he  encounters  a  manifold  remorse.  His 
last  and  sole  refuge  is  our  pity.  Ah  !  let  us  esteem 
and  admire  persecuted  and  ever  triumphant  virtue ; 
but  let  our  tears  fall  upon  the  sores  of  conscience 
like  the  Samaritan's  oil. 

XXII.  „ 

How  difficult  is  purity  to  the  pure !  A  little 
pollen  is  enough  to  rob  the  lily  of  its  whiteness. 

XXIII. 

If  it  were  ever  allowable  to  forget  what  is  due  to 
superiority  of  rank,  it  would  be  when  the  privileged 
themselves  remember  it. 

XXIV. 

That  mysterious  stone  on  which  Jacob  reposed 
was  faith.  Let  us,  too,  sleep  on  its  breast,  and  our 
future  greatness  will  be  revealed  to  us. 


AIRELLES. 


XXV. 


We  do  not  judge  men  by  what  they  are  in  them- 
selves, but  by  what  they  are  relatively  to  us. 

XXVI. 

Impassioned  characters  never  attain  their  mark 
till  they  have  overshot  it. 

XXVII. 

Conscience  is,  at  once,  the  sweetest  and  most  trou- 
blesome of  guests.  It  is  the  voice  which  demanded 
Abel  of  his  brother,  or  that  celestial  harmony  which 
vibrated  in  the  ears  of  the  martyrs,  and  soothed  their 
sufferings. 

XXVIII. 

The  literature  of  Russia  is  a  little  like  that  iron 
money  of  Lacedsemon,  which  had  no  circulation  out 
of  the  country. 

XXIX. 

There  are  questions  so  indiscreet,  that  they  de- 
serve neither  truth  nor  falsehood  in  reply. 

XXX. 

The  symptoms  of  compassion  and  benevolence,  in 
some  people,  are  like  those  minute  guns  which  warn 
you  that  you  are  in  deadly  peril. 
1* 


10  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XXXI. 

O  widow's  mite  !  Why  hast  thou  not,  in  human 
balances,  the  immense  weight  which  celestial  pity 
accords  thee? 

XXXII. 

One  may  make  a  solitude  in  the  depths  of  his  own 
heart,  in  the  midst  of  a  dissipated  and  worldly  life. 
He  may  also,  when  his  isolation  becomes  oppressive, 
people  that  solitude  with  beings  after  his  own  heart, 
and  adapted  solely  to  his  purposes. 

XXXIII. 

The  magic  gifts  of  Oriental  romance,  which  be- 
nevolent fairies  dispensed  freely  and  at  will,  are,  it  may 
be,  a  fantastic  image  of  those  more  real  boons  which 
Providence  has  impartially  distributed  among  all  men. 
Thus,  our  volition  recalls  that  mysterious  ring  which 
was  endowed  with  creative  power,  —  prudence, 
the  talisman  which  anticipates  or  avoids  danger ; 
the  imagination,  the  wonderful  carpet  which  rendered 
all  places  present,  and  annihilated  distance ;  resig- 
nation, finally,  the  universal  balm,  since  it  soothes  and 
calms  even  the  evils  which  it  cannot  cure. 

XXXIV. 

Humility  is  a  cuirass  which  turns  aside  the  blows 
dealt  by  the  enmity  of  man ;  but  that  cuirass  is  de- 
fective at  the  heart. 


AIRELLES.  11 

XXXV. 

There  are  words  which  are  worth  as  much  as  the 
best  actions,  for  they  contain  the  germ  of  them  all. 

XXXVI. 

Courtesy,  in  the  mistress  of  a  house,  consists  in 
feeding  conversation,  —  never  in  usurping  it.  She 
is  the  guardian  of  this  species  of  sacred  fire,  but  it 
must  be  accessible  to  all. 

XXXVII. 

Misfortune  is,  like  the  honest  man,  as  good  as 
her  word. 

XXXVIII. 

The  qualities  destined  to  subserve  the  happiness  of 
others,  remain  too  often  idle  and  self-centred,  like 
charming  letters,  which  have  never  been  sent. 

XXXIX. 

The  injustice  of  men  subserves  the  justice  of  God, 
and  often  his  mercy. 

XL. 

Before  Socrates,  it  was  said,  "Let  us  do  good  to 
those  who  love  us,  and  evil  to  those  who  hate." 
Socrates  changed  the  precept,  and  said,  "Let  us  do 
good  to  our  friends,  and  let  us  do  no  evil  to  our  ene- 
mies." Only  Jesus  Christ  says,  "Bless  them  that 


12  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

curse  you."     It  belongs  to  the  Saviour  of  men  alone, 
to  train  them  to  supernatural  virtues. 

XLI. 

It  is  necessary,  sometimes,  to  refrain  from  ques- 
tioning our  friends,  that  we  may  not  draw  from  them 
what  we  ought  not  to  know,  and  especially  that  we 
may  not  tempt  them  to  deceive  us. 

XLII. 

All  the  joys  of  earth  will  not  assuage  our  thirst 
for  happiness,  while  a  single  grief  suffices  to  shroud 
life  in  a  sombre  veil,  and  smite  it  with  nothingness 
at  all  points. 

XLIII. 

Let  us  desire  no  more  intellect  than  is  requisite  for 
perfect  goodness,  and  that  is  no  small  degree ;  for 
goodness  consists  in  a  knowledge  of  all  the  needs  of 
others,  and  all  the  means  of  supplying  them  which 
exist  within  ourselves. 

XLIV. 

Mental  culture  and  a  well-regulated  education 
assist  the  memory.  An  isolated  idea  is  with  diffi- 
culty impressed  upon  the  mind ;  but  when  the 
newly  acquired  notion  finds  a  point  of  contact  already 
prepared  in  the  intellect,  it  fastens  upon  what  is 
analogous  to  itself,  and  forms,  along  with  its  antece- 


AIRELLES.  13 

dents  and  consequents,  a  chain  whose  very  prolon- 
gation is  the  assurance  of  its  strength.  Here,  as 
elsewhere,  the  richer  one  is,  the  easier  it  is  to  in- 
crease in  riches  ;  and  here,  too,  the  parable  of  the 
talents  applies,  "  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,  and 
from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away  even  that 
which  he  seemeth  to  have." 

XLV. 

The  smile  upon  the  old  man's  lip,  like  the  last  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  pierces  the  heart  with  a  sweet  and 
sad  emotion.  There  is  still  a  ray,  there  is  still  a 
smile ;  but  they  may  be  the  last. 

XL  VI. 

There  are  minds  constructed  like  the  eyes  of  certain 
insects,  which  discern,  with  admirable  distinctness, 
the  most  delicate  lineaments  and  finest  veins  of  the 
leaf  which  bears  them,  but  are  totally  unable  to  take 
in  the  ensemble  of  the  plant  or  shrub.  When  error 
has  effected  an  entrance  into  such  minds,  it  remains 
there  impregnable,  because  no  general  view  assists 
them  in  throwing  off  the  chance  impression  of  the 
moment. 

XL  VII. 

In  the  conflicts  into  which  we  are  betrayed  by  pas- 
sion, it  is  especially  just  to  say,  "  Vce  victis  /" 


14  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XLVIII. 

The  most  culpable  of  the  excesses  of  Liberty  is 
the  harm  she  does  herself. 

XLIX. 

Let  us  resist  the  opinion  of  the  world  fearlessly, 
provided  only  that  our  self-respect  grows  in  pro- 
portion to  our  indifference. 

L. 

Alas  for  him,  who,  in  the  tranquillity  of  his  heart, 
desires  death,  while  there  are  yet  sacrifices  for  him 
to  make,  happiness  to  secure,  wants  to  anticipate, 
or  tears  to  wipe  away. 

LI. 

I  would  say  of  princes  as  the  Protestants  say  of  a 
higher  Master,  "  service  without  worship." 

LII. 

If  we  devoted  to  the  understanding  of  a  thing  the 
time  we  consume  in  appearing  to  have  understood  it, 
and  listened  all  the  while  that  we  are  revolving  our 
own  replies,  would  it  not  be  better  for  the  world? 

LIII. 

Our  vanity  is  the  constant  enemy  of  our  dignity. 


AIRELLES.  15 

LV. 

Providence  has  willed  that  all  the  virtues  should 
originate  in  actual  wants,  and  all  the  vices  in  factitious 
ones. 

LIV. 

Love  sometimes  elevates,  creates  new  qualities, 
suspends  the  working  of  evil  inclinations  ;  but  only 
for  a  day.  Love,  then,  is  an  Oriental  despot, 
whose  glance  lifts  a  slave  from  the  dust,  and  then 
consigns  him  to  it  again. 

LYI. 

We  are  always  looking  into  the  future,  but  we 
see  only  the  past. 

LVII. 

It  is  by  doing  right  that  we  arrive  at  just  princi- 
ples of  action. 

LYIII. 

Indifferent  souls  never  part.  Impassioned  souls 
part,  and  return  to  one  another,  because  they  can 
do  no  better. 

LIX. 

He  who  has  ceased  to  enjoy  his  friend's  supe- 
riority has  ceased  to  love  him. 

LX. 

Would  you  push  the  sinner  to  extremes,  dis- 
courage the  weak,  and  cause  the  sore  heart  to  fes- 


16  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

ter?  Assume  the  uncompromising  severity  of  stern 
and  haughty  speech,  —  and  rest  assured  that  the  bad 
passions  which  provoke  your  zeal  will  redouble  their 
violence.  Oh,  you  who  have  surrendered  your  hearts 
to  God,  forget  for  a  moment,  if  possible,  your  hatred 
of  vice,  if  you  would  snatch  away  its  victims  !  Ani- 
mated by  this  sacred  and  consoling  hope,  let  the 
wholesome  knife,  with  which  your  hand  is  armed, 
penetrate,  without  tearing,  the  wound  !  Lift  up,  after 
you  have  cast  down  !  Have  ready  pity  for  every 
fault,  a  ray  of  hope  for  every  trial.  Let  not  the 
unfortunate,  as  he  leaves  your  presence,  cry,  "All  is 
lost,"  (terrible  words  !  they  are  hell  in  themselves  !  ) 
but  let  him  bless  you  as  a  comforter,  and  feel  that  all 
may  yet  be  regained. 

LXI. 


is 


The  courage  with  which  we  have  met  past  dangers 
often  our  best  security  in  the  present. 


LXII. 


The  chrysalis  is  a  type  of  the  old  man.  He  vege- 
tates, and  is  torpid  ;  but  he  will  live  ;  and,  during  this 
slumber  and  temporary  impassibility,  the  wings  are 
forming  which  shall  bear  him  on  to  immortality. 


LXIII. 


Loving  souls  are   like  paupers.       They  live   on 
what  is  given  them. 


AIRELLES.  17 


LXIV. 

There  are  things  which  we  cannot  help  knowing, 
but  which  we  must  never  acknowledge. 


LXV. 

The  most  dangerous  of  all  flattery  is  the  inferior- 
ity of  those  about  us. 

LXVI. 

The  labor  which  perfects  our  intellectual  faculties, 
while  it  develops,  elevates,  rectifies,  and  clarifies  or 
dilutes  our  ideas,  is  the  source  of  a  wealth  which  tands 
to  become  inherent,  and  which  positively  augments  our 
individual  worth.  Those  acquirements  which  simply 
furnish  the  mind ;  which  are  imported  into  it  without 
taking  root,  or  adding  any  thing  to  its  power  and 
compass,  are  our  property,  indeed  ;  but  they  are  not 
ourselves  ;  and  they  leave  us,  in  point  of  moral  value, 
exactly  where  they  found  us.  Gold,  tortoise-shell, 
and  ivory  may  embellish  a  lyre ;  but  these  vain 
ornaments  can  never  cause  it  to  send  forth  full 
and  sonorous  tones. 

LXVII. 

To  have  ideas  is  to  gather  flowers.  To  think  is 
to  weave  them  into  garlands. 


18  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHESTE. 

LXVIII. 

We  estimate  the  virtue  of  others  by  its  fruits ; 
our  own,  by  the  sacrifices  it  enables  us  to  accomplish. 

LXIX. 

Real  sorrow  is  almost  as  difficult  to  discover  as  real 
poverty.  An  instinctive  delicacy  hides  the  rags  of 
the  one,  and  the  wounds  of  the  other. 

LXX. 

He  who  has  never  denied  himself,  for  the  sake  of 
giving,  has  but  glanced  at  the  joys  of  charity.  We 
owe  our  superfluity  ;  and,  to  be  happy  in  the  perform- 
ance of  our  duty,  we  must  exceed  it. 

LXXI. 

How  can  that  gift  leave  a  trace,  which  has  left  no 
void? 

LXXII. 

There  are  sinners  whose  justification  is  nowhere, 
and  their  excuse  everywhere. 

LXXIII. 

In  strong  and  thoughtful  characters,  the  motives  of 
action  and  conduct  generally  must  be  sought  in  fixed 
principles ;  while  the  ground  of  the  ideas  by  which 
impetuous  characters  suppose  themselves  to  be  gov- 
erned is  found  in  the  sway  of  passing  impressions. 


AIRELLES.  19 

LXXIV. 

w  Is  not  life  useful  when  it  is  happy  ? "  asks  the 
egotist.  "  Is  it  not  sufficiently  happy  when  it  is  use- 
ful? "  asks  the  good  man. 

LXXV. 

Since  there  must  be  chimeras,  why  is  not  per- 
fection the  chimera  of  all  men? 

LXXVI. 

"Prayer,"  says  St.  Jerome,  "is  a  groan."  Ah! 
our  groans  are  prayers,  as  well.  The  very  cry  of 
distress  is  an  involuntary  appeal  to  that  invisible 
Power  whose  aid  the  soul  invokes. 

LXXVII. 

The  chains  which  cramp  us  most  are  those  which 


weigh  on  us  least. 


LXXVIII. 


Virtue  is  the  daughter  of  Keligion  :  Eepentance, 
her  adopted  child  —  a  poor  orphan  who,  without  the 
asylum  which  she  offers,  would  not  know  where  to 
hide  her  sole  treasure,  —  her  tears  ! 


LXXIX. 


There  are  people  who  betray  their  friends  a  little, 
just  for  the  sake  of  showing  that  they  are  faithful. 


20  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

LXXX. 

When  Charity  commands  us  to  love  indifferent  per- 
sons "  as  ourselves,"  it  doubtless  authorizes  us  to  love 
our  friends  better. 

LXXXI. 

Indulgence  is  lovely  in  the  sinless  ;  toleration  ador- 
able in  the  pious  and  believing  heart.  Modesty  is 
especially  becoming  to  superiority,  affability  to  great- 
ness, moderation  and  simplicity  to  wealth,  and  self- 
forgetfulness  to  those  who  never  forget  others.  But 
the  guilty,  obscure,  or  commonplace  man  has  too 
much  interest  in  the  goodness  of  others,  for  his  own 
to  be  taken  kindly.  He  is  always  in  the  position  of 
an  unfortunate  debtor  who  is  seeking  to  soften  his 
creditor's  heart;  and,  when  any  disposition  is  useful, 
it  is  rarely  unsuspected.  The  virtuous  man  alone 
can  be  compassionate  and  generous  at  his  ease. 

LXXXII. 

If  we  would  go  on  to  perfection,  we  must  take  care 
not  to  refer  back  to  external  causes  our  faults  and 
deviations  from  duty,  —  even  those  which  may  be 
called  accidental.  Our  faults  are  indeed  our  misfor- 
tunes ;  but  their  memory  is  a  precious  heritage ;  for 
they  alone,  it  may  be,  cause  us  seriously  to  reflect. 
Let  us  not  repudiate  their  moral  teaching  for  the  sake 
of  ridding  ourselves  of  their  troublesome  weight,  but 
rather  strive  unceasingly  to  ascend  from  the  effect  to 
the  cause  within.  Let  us  deny  the  involuntary  theory, 


AIRELLES.  21 

reject  that  of  accident,  and  accuse  none  but  our- 
selves. Let  us  take  note  of  the  misgivings  of  con- 
science, of  impulses  whose  origin  is  obscure  or 
suspicious,  of  nameless  remorse.  Let  us  note  these 
things,  and  give  ourselves  no  uneasiness ;  —  "  The 
Lord  knoweth  them  that  are  his." 

LXXXIII. 

Let  us  ever  exceed  our  appointed  duties,  and  keep 
within  our  lawful  pleasures. 

LXXXIV. 

The  freest  and  the  most  despotic  governments  rep- 
resent the  two  regimes  under  which  religion  is  most 
needful  to  man.  In  the  first,  there  is  an  excess  of 
life,  and  of  development  of  the  individual  will,  which 
may  become  a  source  of  disorder  and  of  danger  if 
its  exercise  be  not  regulated  by  the  restraints  of  an 
interior  law.  Under  the  second,  which  includes  every 
variety  of  social  evil,  man  cannot  have  too  many  of 
the  hopes  of  heaven,  or  the  consolations  of  earth,  to 
enable  him  patiently  to  endure  humiliation  and  mis- 
fortune. 

LXXXV. 

By  becoming  more  unhappy,  we  sometimes  learn 
how  to  be  less  so. 

LXXXVI. 

"Woman  is  in  some  sort  divine,"  said  the  ancient 


22  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

German.  "  Woman,"  says  the  follower  of  Mahomet, 
"is  an  amiable  creature,  who  only  needs  a  cage." 
"Woman/5  says  the  European,  "is  a  being  nearly 
our  equal  in  intelligence,  and  perhaps  our  superior  in 
fidelity."  Everywhere  something  detracted  from  our 
dignity  !  It  is  very  like  the  history  of  the  dog  !  — 
a  god  in  one  country ;  muzzled  or  imprisoned  in 
many  others ;  and  sometimes  "  the  best  friend  of  his 
master." 

LXXXVII. 

Those  who  make  us  happy  are  always  thankful  to 
us  for  being  so.  Their  gratitude  is  the  reward  of 
their  own  benefits. 

LXXXVIII. 

It  is  not  true  that  a  strong  feeling  is  necessarily 
exclusive.  On  the  contrary,  —  a  lively  affection,  if 
happy,  brings  into  play  our  faculties  of  loving,  and 
increases  their  activity  outside  the  circle  of  the 
primary  interest.  Ah,  how  rich  is  the  overflow  of  a 
softened  heart ! 

LXXXIX. 

We  are  early  struck  by  bold  conceptions  and  bril- 
liant thoughts  :  later,  we  learn  to  appreciate  natural 
grace  and  the  charm  of  simplicity.  In  early  youth, 
we  are  hardly  sensible  of  any  but  very  lively  emo- 
tions. All  that  is  not  dazzling  appears  dull ;  all 
that  is  not  affecting,  cold.  Conspicuous  beauties 
overshadow  those  which  must  be  sought;  and  the 


AIRELLES.  23 

mind,  in  its  haste  to  enjoy,  demands  facile  pleasures. 
Ripe  age  inspires  us  with  other  thoughts.  We  re- 
trace our  steps ;  taste  critically  what,  before,  we  de- 
voured ;  study,  and  make  discoveries  :  and  the  ray 
of  light,  decomposed  under  our  hands,  yields  a  thou- 
sand shades  for  one  color. 

xc. 

w  Firenze  non  si  muove,  se  tutta  non  si  duole"1 
says  an  old  Tuscan  proverb.  There  are  many  souls 
like  Florence. 

xci. 

Our  faults  afflict  us  more  than  our  good  deeds  con- 
sole. Pain  is  ever  uppermost,  in  the  conscience  as 
in  the  heart. 

XCII. 

Friendship  is  like  those  ancient  altars,  where  the 
unhappy,  and  even  the  guilty,  found  a  sure  asylum. 

XCIII. 

I  would  sooner  believe  in  a  happiness  born  of  tears, 
than  in  a  joy  which  should  be  compatible  with  aridity 
of  soul.  The  obstacles  to  the  bliss  of  a  loving  heart 
are  external.  The  hard  heart  bears  them  within ; 
and  the  more  immediate  cause  has  also  more  certain 
effects.  A  few  plants  still  lift  their  moist  heads  above 

1  If  Florence  is  moved,  all  things  suffer. 


24  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

inundated  plains ;    but  the  sands  of  the  shore   are 
always  sterile. 

xciv. 

We  expect  every  thing,  and  are  prepared  for  noth- 
ing. 

xcv. 

A  good,  finished  scandal,  fully  armed  and  equipped, 
such  as  circulates  in  the  world,  is  rarely  the  produc- 
tion of  a  single  individual,  or  even  of  a  single  co- 
terie. It  sees  the  light  in  one  ;  is  rocked  and  nurtured 
in  another ;  is  petted,  developed,  and  attains  its 
growth  in  a  third ;  and  receives  its  finishing  touches 
only  after  passing  through  a  multitude  of  hands.  It 
is  a  child  that  can  count  a  host  of  fathers,  —  all  ready 
to  disown  it. 

xcvi. 

Suspicion  has  its  dupes,  as  well  as  credulity. 

XCVII. 

In  the  first  part  of  life,  we  give  every  thing  to* 
others,  and  expect  every  thing  from  them. 

XCVIII. 

Eepentance  is  accepted  remorse. 

XCIX. 

The  doctrine  of  compensation  is  one  of  those  whose 
truth  becomes  ever  more  and  more  apparent;  but 


AIRELLES.  25 

those  who  are  blessed  with  outward  advantages,  are 
not  to  appropriate  it  without  hesitation,  or  maintain 
it  without  caution.  It  would  ill  become  him  who  has 
been  happy  in  the  long  run  (though  every  day  may 
have  brought  its  trials)  to  insist  upon  an  equilibrium 
which  seems  to  have  been  disturbed  in  his  favor.  It 
is  on  the  lips  of  the  poor  and  oppressed  that  this 
truth  becomes  powerful,  and  serves  the  cause  of  vir- 
tue by  reminding  us  of  the  noble  and  saintly  joys 
which  God  has  ordained  by  way  of  counterpoise  to 
grief,  misery,  and  despair. 


o. 

A  good  action  leaves  behind  it  an  impression  of 
seemingly  incompatible  effects.  On  the  one  hand,  it 
attaches  us  to  life ;  on  the  other,  it  strengthens  us 
against  death.  In  the  first  instance,  it  mediates  be- 
tween us  and  our  sorrows ;  in  the  second,  between 
God  and  our  sins.  The  Christian  is  the  only  man 
who  can,  logically,  both  love  life  and  desire  death ; 
and  have  we  not  here  the  secret  of  that  sovereign 
good  which  Plato  sought? 


01. 

Parodies,  on  things  I  love,  either  disgust  me,  or 
trouble  my  conscience.  Nothing  that  has  touched  the 
heart  ought  ever  to  be  profaned. 

2 


26  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

on. 

Men  do  not  go  out  to  meet  misfortune  as  we  do. 
They  learn  it;  and  we,  — we  divine  it. 

cm. 

It  is  marvellous  to  think  how  much  cannot  be  done 
by  those  who  can  do  every  thing. 

Civ. 
Devotion,  like  genius,  has  its  feats  of  daring. 

cv. 

All  chains  weary :  and  if  we  shake  them,  they  gall 
us.  God  doubtless  has  permitted  this,  that  one  yoke 
may  be  easy,  and  one  burden  light. 

cvi. 

Let  us  not  fail  to  scatter  along  our  pathway  the 
seeds  of  kindness  and  sympathy.  Some  of  them  will 
doubtless  perish;  but  if  one  only  lives,  it  will  per- 
fume our  steps  and  rejoice  our  eyes. 

cvn. 

When  Friendship  asks  for  her  share,  Love  is  always 
disposed  to  answer,  "  You  will  have  nothing  while  I 
live."  —  "  Ah,  well,  my  Lord  ;  I  can  wait !  " 

cvm. 

There  is  nothing  at  all  in  life,  except  what  we  put 
there. 


AIRELLES.  27 

CIX. 

Strength  alone  knows  conflict ;  Weakness  is  below 
even  defeat,  and  is  born  vanquished. 

ex. 

In  each  new  trial,  we  must  seek  for  the  chastise- 
ment, or  the  warning,  which  it  implies.  Every  ex- 
ternal event  is  a  fable  which  illustrates  some  moral 
truth. 

CXI. 

"  Moi  seule,  —  c'est  assez." l 
The  "  moi "  of  Medea,  is  "  God  "  for  the  Christian. 

1  I  alone  am  sufficient.  This  a  quotation  from  Corneille's  Me- 
dee,  and  the  entire  passsage  is  as  follows  :  — 

NERINE. 

Forcez  1'aveuglement  dont  vous  etes  seduite, 
Pour  voir  en  quel  e'tat  le  sort  vous  a  reduite  : 
Votre  pays  vous  hait,  votre  epoux  est  sans  foi. 
Dans  un  si  grand  revers  que  vous  reste-t-il  1  — 

MEDEE. 

Moi! 
Moi,  dis-je,  et  c'est  assez  — 

NERINE. 

Quoi,  vous  seule,  Madame  ? 
MEDEE. 

Oui,  tu  vois  en  moi  seule  et  le  fer  et  la  flamme, 
Et  la  terre  et  la  mer,  et  Tenfer  et  les  cieux, 
Et  le  sceptre  des  rois?  et  le  foudre  des  dieux. 
Of  this  passage,  Voltaire  says,  — 

"  Ce  moi  est  celebre.  C'est  le  Medea  super  est  de  Seneque.  Ce  qui 
suit  est  encore  une  traduction  de  Seneque."  —  TR. 


28  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

CXII. 

Man's  inclination  is  to  know  all ;  to  understand  all, 
even  at  the  price  of  his  own  happiness.  Has  he  been 
wounded  by  a  few  isolated  words  ?  He  regrets  that 
he  was  unable  to  seize  their  connection.  Has  some 
trifling  anxiety  ruffled  the  surface  of  his  heart  ?  He 
cannot  rest  till  he  has  reduced  it  to  a  melancholy  cer- 
tainty. In  short,  — were  misfortune  at  hand  under 
her  most  fearful  aspect,  wrapped  in  the  folds  of  a 
triple  cloak,  his  consuming  instinct  would  force  him  to 
remove  them  all. 

CXIII. 

.  It  is  a  mercy  to  the  rich  that  there  are  poor.  Alms 
is  but  the  material  life  of  the  latter :  it  is,  at  least  in 
a  degree,  the  spiritual  life  of  the  former.  If  the  rich 
could  not  give,  they  might  still  be  charitable  :  the 
heart  has  a  thousand  ways  for  that ;  but  the  portion 
of  wealth  which  they  retain ,  would  no  longer  be  puri- 
fied, ennobled,  and  sanctified  by  that  which  they  dis- 
pense. 

CXIV. 

Love  enters  the  heart  unawares  :  takes  precedence 
of  all  the  emotions,  —  or,  at  least,  will  be  second  to 
none,  —  and  even  reflection  becomes  its  accomplice. 
While  it  lives,  it  renders  blind ;  and  when  it  has 
struck  its  roots  deep  only  itself  can  shake  them.  It 
reminds  one  of  hospitality  as  practised  among  the 
ancients.  The  stranger  was  received  upon  the  thresh- 


AIKELLES.  29 

old  of  the  half-open  door,  and  introduced  into  the 
sanctuary  reserved  for  the  Penates.  Not  until  every 
attention  had  been  lavished  upon  him  did  the  host 
ask  his  name ;  and  the  question  was  sometimes  de- 
ferred till  the  very  moment  of  departure. 

cxv. 

Only  a  just  appreciation  of  things  will  enable  us  to 
possess  them  tranquilly,  or  console  ourselves  for  their 
loss. 

cxvi. 

The  world  has  no  sympathy  with  any  but  positive 
griefs.  It  will  pity  you  for  what  you  lose ;  never  for 
what  you  lack. 

CXVII. 

It  is  only  in  heaven  that  angels  have  as  much  abil- 
ity as  demons. 

CXVIII. 

There  are  not  good  things  enough  in  life  to  indem- 
nify us  for  the  neglect  of  a  single  duty. 

CXIX. 

Intellectual  pride  is  less  outraged  by  the  obscurities 
of  faith  than  by  the  authority  with  which  it  is  clothed. 

cxx. 

There  are  people  who  never  give  their  hearts  :  they 
lend  them,  and  always  at  high  interest. 


30  WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

CXXI. 

Moral  difficulties  —  the  perplexity  attendant  on 
conflicting  interests  and  duties,  between  which  we 
cannot  choose,  and  dare  not  decide  —  have  often  made 
me  think  that  it  is  the  will  of  Providence  to  im- 
pose mysteries  upon  the  conscience,  as  well  as  the 
mind.  On  the  one  hand,  we  have  the  faith  that  sub- 
mits blindly ;  on  the  other,  the  heart  humiliated, 
because  it  cannot  take  refuge  in  the  certainty  of 
having  done  right. 

CXXII. 

Kindness  causes  us  to  learn,  and  to  forget,  many 
things. 

CXXIII. 

Pride  dries  the  tears  of  anger  and  vexation ;  hu- 
mility, those  of  grief.  The  one  is  indignant  that  we 
should  suffer ;  the  other  calms  us  by  the  reminder 
that  we  deserve  nothing  else. 

CXXIV. 

I  would  rather  choose  my  griefs  than  my  joys, 
because  I  dread  the  former  more  than  I  anticipate  the 
latter. 

cxxv. 

A  woman  who  has  never  been  pretty  has  never 
been  young. 


AIRELLES.  31 

CXXVI. 

Let  us  guard  against  touching  those  strings  whose 
ready  and  sad  vibration  carries  us  back  to  a  time  of  lost 
happiness.  The  conquerors  of  Scotland  endeavored  to 
insure  their  peaceful  possession  of  the  country  by 
interdicting  to  her  bards  those  pensive,  yet  stirring, 
airs,  wherein  yet  lingered  all  the  power  of  the  olden 
time. 

CXXVII. 

Silence  is  like  nightfall.  Objects  are  lost  in  it  in- 
sensibly. 

CXXVIII. 

There  is  nothing  steadfast  in  life  but  our  mem- 
ories. We  are  sure  of  keeping  intact  only  that 
which  we  have  lost. 

CXXIX. 

Attention  is  a  silent  and  perpetual  flattery. 

/ 

cxxx. 

I  can  understand  the  things  that  afflict  mankind, 
but  I  often  marvel  at  those  which  console.  An  atom 
may  wound,  but  God  alone  can  heal. 

CXXXI. 

Servility  is  almost  always  worse  than  insubordina- 
tion. 


32  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

CXXXII. 

If  it  were  allowable  to  use  proper  names,  how  easy- 
it  would  be  to  make  out  a  list  of  the  ninety-and-nine 
just  persons,  whose  safety  causes  less  joy  in  heaven 
than  the  repentance  of  a  single  sinner ! 

CXXXIII. 

Travel  is  the  frivolous  part  of  serious  lives,  and 
the  serious  part  of  frivolous  ones. 

CXXXIV. 

There  is  a  rapture,  an  eloquence,  a  brilliancy,  and 
an  animation  of  the  mind,  which  belongs  peculiarly 
to  youth,  and  corresponds  to  that  condition  of  the 
body  which  is  called  "La  beaut£  du  diable." 

cxxxv. 

It  is  possible  to  be  cured  of  every  thing  and  sick 
of  nothing. 

CXXXVI. 

Power  is  the  act ;  authority,  the  right.  The  one 
compels,  —  the  other  induces,  submission. 

CXXXVII. 

We  want  justice  from  indifferent  persons,  and  par- 
tiality from  those  we  love.  And  the  more  such 
partiality  transcends  our  deserts,  the  more  evident  is 
the  source  of  so  sweet  a  misconception. 


AIRELLES.  33 

CXXXVIII. 

We  are  rich  only  through  what  we  give,  and  poor 
only  through  what  we  refuse. 

CXXXIX. 

Nothing  can  be  more  insolent  than  some  forms  of 
indulgence.  There  are  people  who  absolve  you  with 
the  air  of  having  the  right  to  condemn. 

CXL. 

In  youth,  we  feel  the  richer  for  every  new  illusion; 
in  mature  years,  for  every  one  we  lose. 

CXLI. 

What  a  difference  it  makes  in  private  relations, 
whether  one  is  irreproachable,  or  merely  unimpeach- 
able ! 

CXLII. 

No  two  persons  ever  read  the  same  book,  or  saw 
the  same  picture. 

CXLIII. 

We  are  often  prophets  to  others  only  because  we 
are  our  own  historians. 

CXLIV. 

There  is  a  transcendent  power  in  example.  We 
reform  others  unconsciously  when  we  walk  uprightly. 

CXLV. 

Men  are  always  invoking  justice ;  and  it  is  justice 
which  should  make  them  tremble. 

2* 


34  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 


ON  MUSIC. 

Harmony  and  melody  —  which  have  an  equal 
share  in  the  effects  produced  by  sound  —  find  their 
original  type,  it  may  be,  in  the  double  nature  of  the 
universe,  and  of  human  destiny  considered  socially 
and  individually.  Harmony,  like  the  external  world 
and  its  moving  masses,  presents  us  with  various 
parts,  linked  together  and  arranged  so  as  to  subserve 
one  and  the  same  end.  Regular  and  measured  in  its 
movement  as  the  celestial  orbs, — no  deviation  is 
allowable  even  in  its  boldest  flight.  An  almighty 
will  seems  to  have  bound  it  to  magnificence  and 
grandeur,  restricting  its  freedom  to  the  latitude  of  the 
laws  whose  expression  it  is.  *  But  melody  is  thor- 
oughly moral,  and  consequently  free.  It  is  the 
heart's  utterance,  and  follows  and  renders  its  emotions 
faithfully.  When  brilliant,  it  recalls  our  joys  ;  when 
sweet  and  lingering,  it  portrays  our  rare  and  de- 
licious intervals  of  repose.  It  sighs  for  our  disquie- 
tudes and  sways  beneath  our  sorrows,  like  a  friend 
who  shares  them.  Would  it  reproduce  the  sad  and 
vague  yearnings  which  by  turns  agitate  and  soothe 
the  soul  of  man?  —  its  songs  are  as  dreamy  as  his 
chimeras.  Melody  is  but  one  thought  at  a  time,  but 
—  mobile  and  rapid  —  it  renders  all  thoughts  in  suc- 
cession and  tells  the  tale  of  a  complete  destiny. 
'  Harmony,  with  its  grand  effects,  seems  made  to  appeal 
to  assembled  men ;  melody,  to  transport  the  memory 


AIRELLES.  35 

in  solitude.  Words  may  of  course  be  adapted  to  a 
piece  of  pure  harmony ;  but  they  are  only  accessory, 
When  melody  is  associated  with  human  speech,  they 
rival  one  another  in  charm  and  in  power.  Speech 
is,  indeed,  the  heart's  expression ;  but  melody  re- 
mains its  accent. 

ON  THE  FIRMAMENT. 

Is  it  not  amid  the  rigors  of  winter  that  the  celestial 
vault  impresses  us  most  deeply  as  the  region  of  the 
immutable  and  the  eternal  ?  Type  of  the  world  of 
souls  !  —  there  is  no  trace  of  time  in  that  kingdom 
of  space.  There  is  beauty  without  spot  or  wrinkle, 
—  immortal  youth.  Like  the  soul,  the  sky  has 
dates,  but  not  age.  Like  the  soul,  it  has  no  night, 
but  changes  its  lights  as  the  soul  varies  in  bright- 
ness. The  succession  of  the  seasons  causes  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  earth, — its  burning  heats  and  hoary 
frosts,  its  long  and  sad  intervals  of  desolation.  But, 
by  a  sublime  immunity,  the  heaven,  although  created, 
knows  neither  change  nor  decay.  In  the  day-time, 
waves  of  light  burst  from  its  glowing  central  fire ; 
in  the  night  its  dark  depths  sparkle  with  innumera- 
ble suns.  The  mighty  immobility  of  its  planets, 
or  their  triumphal  march  beneath  the  watchful  gaze 
of  the  Most  High,  seem  to  image  the  impassibility  of 
the  saints  or  their  swift  and  irresistible  zeal.  Thus, 
while  nature  —  bound  beneath  the  yoke  of  the  winter 
solstice,  desolate,  mute,  hiding  her  nakedness  in  a 


36  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

shroud  —  seems  to  accuse  man  of  sin  and  its  fatal 
consequences  ;  the  sky  remains  blue ;  the  sun  keeps 
the  gold  of  his  beams,  the  moon  her  silver  clearness, 
the  stars  the  blaze  of  their  many-colored  diamonds  : 
in  a  word,  the  vault  of  heaven,  resplendent  and  glori- 
ously arrayed,  seems  like  the  heart  of  the  good  man 
to  celebrate  a  perpetual  feast,  —  the  feast  of  the 
promised  restoration.  Kindly  mother  though  she  be, 
the  Earth  sometimes  allows  her  breasts  to  dry ;  but 
the  fount  of  light  never  fails,  — the  world  could  not 
live  else.  Again  and  again  the  day  dawns  and  the 
shadows  flee  away,  that  we  may  be  lured  to  the 
sweetness  of  a  hope  in  the  future.  Nothing  is  irre- 
vocable, within  or  without  us.  The  cloud  parts,  the 
mist  rises,  the  vapor  disappears ;  and  the  trustful, 
hopeful,  watchful  observer  is  comforted.  Power  is 
watching  over  him,  under  the  form  of  imperishable 
beauty. 

ON  NATURE. 

The  diverse  aspects  of  nature,  like  the  manifold 
meanings  of  art,  are  so  many  voices  which  pene- 
trate the  heart  and  speak  to  the  intelligence.  Every 
thing  in  the  visible  world,  —  the  world  which  we  see 
and  hear,  —  expresses  the  heart's  thought  or  responds 
thereto.  Tis  the  old  story  in  another  language  ;  for 
nature,  too,  is  what  the  fall  of  man  has  made  it.  Its 
scenes  and  effects  have  a  mysterious  analogy  with 
the  dispositions  we  bear  within,  — both  with  those  we 


AIRELLES.  37 

would  resist  and  those  whose  triumph  we  would 
secure.  The  result  of  the  connection  is,  that  this 
inanimate,  insensible  nature  is  not  without  its  effect 
on  us, — that  our  moral  impressions  depend  upon 
it  and  it  does  us  good  or  harm.  According  to  the 
page  which  arrests  our  attention  in  this  great  book 
of  nature,  we  find  ourselves  modified.  By  turns,  it 
strengthens  or  seduces  us,  troubles  or  calms  ;  causes 
to  circulate  in  our  veins  the  pure  air  of  the  moun- 
tains with  its  swift  and  buoyant  life,  or  the  perfumed 
breezes  of  the  valley  with  their  perfidious  softness. 
We  yield  to  the  influence  of  the  phenomena  which 
it  displays  in  our  sight.  Thus,  its  grand  perturba- 
tions unsettle  us  :  a  terrible  fatality  seems  to  urge 
us  toward  the  yawning  chasm.  The  rocks,  piled 
and  jagged,  like  petrified  tempests,  remind  us  of 
other  terrible  and  lasting  ravages.  Vertigo  seizes 
us  on  steep  and  lofty  heights  ;  and  a  close  and  narrow 
horizon  fatigues  the  eye,  which  requires  space  as  the 
soul  requires  a  future.  The  sublime  majesty  of  the 
ocean  or  the  Alps  transports  us,  enchants  us,  gives 
us  glimpses  of  other  heavens  beyond  the  clouds ; 
yet  soon  the  need  of  rest,  even  from  admiration, 
forces  itself  upon  us.  In  consequence  of  this  re- 
action, when  urged  by  a  longing  for  strength  and 
peace  we  fly  the  foaming,  hurrying  torrent, — the 
running  stream  which  makes  us  dream  too  much, — 
the  river  which  flows  into  the  distance.  Instinct- 
ively, and  as  if  to  assure  the  free  possession  of  our- 


38  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

selves,  we  pause  on  the  shore  of  those  peaceful 
lakes,  — those  wonderful  sheets  whose  aspect,  at  once 
solemn  and  serene,  raises  the  tone  of  our  medita- 
tions. In  such  a  tranquil  and  harmonious  mood, 
nothing  appeals  or  responds  to  us  more  perfectly 
than  those  shadowy  tarns  hidden  in  the  recesses  of 
the  mountains,  whose  glassy  surface  is  another  azure 
sky.  What  thought  and  feeling  does  it  not  awaken, 

—  that  solitary,  remote,  silent,  nameless  lake  ?    Pure, 
limpid  waters  in   a   verdant   cup, — a  single  glance 
takes  in  their  charming  unity.     Living,  but  restrained 
within  limits  which  they  cannot  pass,  they  seem  like 
wisdom  reconciled  to   necessity.     Ask  the  lake  the 
secret  of  its  deep  inner  life,  and  it  answers  by  the 
rich  vegetation  of  its  border.     Life  and  its  blessings 
are   everywhere    on    its    banks,   and    in   its   bosom ; 
danger,  nowhere.     The  wave  upon  its  surface  stirs 
not  the  golden  sands  of  its  bed  ;  it  hides  no  ruins, 
for  it  has  seen  no  shipwreck. 

ON  COURTESY. 

Courtesy  in  the  world  is  by  no  means  a  false 
and  culpable  pretence.  It  softens  rather  than  dis- 
simulates ;  and,  on  the  whole,  since  it  deceives 
nobody,  it  cannot  be  accused  of  falsehood.  Incom- 
patibility of  character ;  the  profound  and  radical 
differences  which  are  born  of  principles  drawn  from 
hostile  sources  ;  the  eager  pursuit  of  conflicting  ends, 

—  all  these  elements  of  discord,  brought  into  play  by 


AIRELLES.  39 

the  lively  irritability  of  self-love,  wounded  pride,  or 
opposing  interests,  make  it  hard  to  understand  why 
the  assembling  together  of  men  is  not  oftener  the 
occasion  of  strife,  invective,  and  bitter  provocation. 
Yet  the  effect,  in  our  salons,  is  very  far  from  cor- 
responding to  the  universal  cause.  Without  greatly 
vaunting  its  motives,  urbanity  comes  to  our  aid. 
By  the  blandness  of  its  forms,  it  supplies  the  place 
of  the  justice  and  moderation  which  ought  to  reign 
within.  The  most  decided  opinions  are  shorn  of 
all  outward  acerbity  ;  and,  while  they  do  not  entirely 
cease  to  manifest  themselves,  yet,  by  suppressing  all 
show  of  hostility,  and  moderating  their  forms  of  ex- 
pression, they  are  enabled  to  inflict  no  mutual 
wounds,  but  to  pass  one  another,  — like  two  clouds 
charged  with  electricity,  — near  enough  for  recogni- 
tion, but  not  for  contact.  This  species  of  sordino, 
imposed  upon  the  sentiments,  might  easily  have  the 
effect  of  hardening  in  error  a  mind  trained  in  an  in- 
ferior civilization  ;  and  which,  accustomed  to  a  differ- 
ent diapason,  might  mistake  for  indifference,  laxity, 
or  scepticism,  the  forms  which  are  made  supple  to 
avoid  needless  friction.  For  those  who  can  read  in 
this  dim  light,  a  word,  an  interval  of  silence,  an  illu- 
sion ever  so  remote,  the  slightest  change  of  intona- 
tion, suffice :  and  the  result  is,  that,  if  no  one 
expresses  his  thought  exactly  as  he  feels  it,  no  one 
stops  at  the  precise  form  of  expression  ;  but  the 
clear  and  actual  sense  is  discovered,  and  remains  in 


40  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

the  intellect  only,  —  as  the  nude  may  be  distinguished 
beneath  the  drapery.  If  we  study  politeness  in  its 
models,  we  shall  find  that  it  never  leads,  —  I  will  not 
say  to  falsehood,  but  to  the  slightest  concession  even  ; 
and  that,  to  a  practised  eye,  the  genuine  thought  dis- 
engages itself  in  perfect  integrity  from  the  forms  by 
which  it  is  surrounded.  Doubtless,  a  just  toleration, 
a  disposition  to  respect  the  ideas  and  convictions  of 
every  free  and  intelligent  being,  would  be  preferable  to 
arrangements  which  are  but  skin-deep ;  but  a  spirit 
of  deference  at  once  steadfast,  sincere,  and  enlight- 
ened, belongs  to  a  perfection  so  rare  that  the  major- 
ity of  men  must  remain  strangers  thereto.  A  less 
lofty  principle  of  action  is  needed ;  and  such  a  princi- 
ple is  expressed  in  that  system  of  delicate  calcula- 
tions and  permissions  which  has  received  the  name 
of  savoir-vivre,  —  perhaps  because  it  is  the  condition 
of  all  mixed,  social  life. 


THOUGHTS. 


COMPILER'S  DEDICATION. 
To  M.  L'ABBE  DE  CAZALES  AND  COMTE  JULES  DE  BERTON,  WITH 

THE  GRATEFUL  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  OF  A.  DE  FALLOUX. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON   HERSELF. ON    GOD. ON   THE    SOUL. ON    THE 

INTELLECT. 

I. 

f  LOVE  knowledge ;  I  love  intellect ;  I  love  faith  ; 
—  simple  faith  yet  more.     I  love  God's  shadow 
better  than  man's  light. 

n. 

It  is  singular,  —  the  tendency  of  many  pious 
minds  to  grant  an  easy  entrance  to  all  that  borders 
on  the  supernatural.  My  own  disposition  is  the 
very  reverse  of  this.  It  is  faith  which  preserves  me 
from  credulity. 


42  WRITINGS   OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

III. 

I  love  God  as  if  he  were  alone  in  the  universe. 
I  pity  the  human  race  as  if  there  were  no  God. 
There  is  an  abyss  between  these  two  extremes,  which 
is  bridged  by  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 

IV. 

In  the  matter  of  good-pleasure  I  love  none  but 
God's.  That  is  always  good. 

v. 

I  tell  thee  of  every  thing,  O  my  God  !  I  engage 
thee  in  all  my  occupations.  I  invite  thee  to  share 
in  all  my  interests.  It  is  so  simple,  can  it  be  over- 
bold? 

VI. 

If  one  were  to  ask  me  the  idea  which  I  derive, 
from  my  own  experience,  of  the  happiness  of  heaven, 
I  should  answer,  "Heaven  is  to  love  in  peace." 

VII. 

I  feel  toward  God  as  they  say  the  Russian  women 
feel  toward  their  husbands  ;  the  more  he  beats  me, ' 
the  better  I  love  him.     That  is  all  the  devil  gains  by 
my  chastisements. 

VIII. 

I  have  too  often  departed  from  God ;  but  — 
praised  be  his  name  !  —  I  have  never  separated  my- 
self from  him. 


THOUGHTS.  43 

IX. 

Eesignation  is,  to  some  extent,  spoiled  for  me  by 
the  fact  that  it  is  so  entirely  conformable  to  the  laws 
of  common  sense.  I  should  like  just  a  little  more  of 
the  supernatural  in  the  practice  of  my  favorite 
virtue. 

x. 

My  God,  forgive  me,  and  do  what  thou  wilt ! 

XI. 

My  sole  defence  against  the  natural  horror  which 
death  inspires,  is  to  love  beyond  it. 

XII. 

"  What ! "  said  some  one  to  me  during  one  of  my 
severe  neuralgic  attacks,  "can  you  love  a  God  who 
tries  you  so?"  —  "Ah,  Madame!  it  is  not  a  rare 
thing.  I  love  one  who  makes  me  suffer." 

XIII. 

My  God !  cause  me  to  do  something  which  thou 
canst  reward ! 

XIV. 

O  God,  my  destiny  is  in  thy  hands  !  I  place  it 
there  !  I  would  place  it  there  if  it  were  elsewhere  ! 
I  will  ever  renew  the  act  of  placing  it  there  ! 


44  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XV. 

God  sees  all.  After  years  of  accumulated  suffer- 
ing, can  I  wish  to-day  that  I  had  never  suffered? 

XVI. 

The  solemn,  wonderful,  majestic  ocean  !  It  exalts, 
but  only  to  crush  me  under  a  sense  of  its  grandeur, 
—  boundless,  everlasting,  pitiless  of  my  insignifi- 
cance. Wherein  does  it  differ  from  me?  In  im- 
mensity of  breadth  and  depth.  What  does  it  give 
me?  A  sense  of  infinity,  and  of  the  abyss  which 
divides  me  from  it.  The  ocean,  in  its  might  and 
unresting  immutability,  in  the  proportions  which 
transcend  the  boldest  flights  of  thought,  is  God,  — 
but  God  without  his  Christ. 

XVII. 

The  inventory  of  my  faith  for  this  lower  world  is 
soon  made  out.  I  believe  in  Him  who  made  it. 

XVIII. 

I  give  myself  up  to  God  as  one  who  knows  that 
in  justice  God  owes  him  nothing. 

XIX. 

I  am  my  true  self  only  in  God's  presence.  My 
sorrows  lie  so  deep,  so  far  below  the  surface,  that  I 
have  too  little  breath  to  bring  them  up. 


THOUGHTS.  45 

XX. 

I  value  time  next  to  eternity. 

XXI. 

I  have  not  another  moment  to  lose  or  to  waste. 
In  the  last  days,  we  put  the  finishing  touches. 
Thank  God  !  I  feel  that  I  am  in  the  right  way.  The 
banks  seem  to  fly. 

XXII. 

Our  relations  with  God  are  such  that  our  obsta- 
cles are  all  means. 

XXIII. 

The  fact  that  God  has  prohibited  despair  gives 
misfortune  the  right  to  hope  all  things,  and  leaves 

hope  free  to  dare  all  things. 

• 

XXIV. 

The  events  of  life  are  a  sacred  text  on  which  the 
mind  may  ponder  and  comment.  How  can  we  fail 
to  follow  with  attention  and  respect  —  yea,  often 
with  gratitude  and  rapture  —  the  chain  of  circum- 
stances which  has  accomplished  a  thought  of  God. 

XXV. 

There  can  be  no  little  things  in  this  world,  seeing 
that  God  mingles  in  all. 

XXVI. 

We  recognize  the  action  of  God  in  great  things  : 


46  WRITINGS   OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

we  exclude  it  in  small.     We  forget  that  the  Lord  of 
eternity  is  also  the  Lord  of  the  hour. 


XXYII. 

Human  life  is  an  open  book,  where  we  read  in 
every  line  a  justification  of  God's  law. 

XXVIII. 

What  we  comprehend  of  God  is,  not  what  he  is 
in  himself,  but  what  he  wills  that  we  should  compre- 
hend. The  treasure  of  divine  knowledge  is  twofold  : 
the  full,  entire,  and  final  verity,  which  is  God 
himself;  and  those  minor  verities  —  eternal,  in- 
deed, but  only  half  revealed  —  which  he  enjoins, 
that  is  to  say,  imposes,  on  the  children  of  men. 

XXIX. 

The  Christian's  God  is  a  God  of  metamorphoses. 
You  cast  grief  into  his  bosom  :  you  draw  thence, 
peace.  You  cast  in  despair  :  'tis  hope  that  rises  to 
the  surface.  It  is  a  sinner  whose  heart  he  moves. 
It  is  a  saint  who  returns  him  thanks. 

XXX. 

My  experience  is,  that  Christianity  dispels  more 
mystery  than  it  involves.  With  Christianity,  it  is 
twilight  in  the  world  ;  without  it,  night.  Christian- 
ity does  not  finish  the  statue, — that  is  heaven's 


THOUGHTS.  47 

work  ;     but    it  "  rough-hews  "    all    things,  —  truth, 
the  mind,  the  soul. 

XXXI. 

To  believe  that  aught  can  be  needful  which  God 
denies,  is  a  most  stupid  error. 

XXXII. 

Is  the  patient  a  physician,  that  he  should  choose  his 
remedies  ? 

XXXIII. 

The  obscurities  of  faith  always  permit  us  to  see  a 
little  way  into  the  impenetrable.  They  are  a  curtain 
which  is  never  withdrawn,  but  which  we  are  always 
lifting. 

XXXIV. 

Faith,  amid  the  disorders  of  a  sinful  life,  is  like 
the  lamp  burning  in  an  ancient  tomb. 

XXXV. 

Piety  is  the  guardian  of  faith. 

XXXVI. 

Piety  softens  all  that  courage  bears. 

XXXVII. 

We  must  labor  unceasingly  to  render  our  piety 
reasonable,  and  our  reason  pious. 


48  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XXXVIII. 

The  joys  of  religion  are  understood  only  by  those 
who  partake  of  them.  Of  all  kinds  of  happiness, 
this  is  the  one  whose  expression  should  be  most  mod- 
erate and  humble  in  the  presence  of  those  who  do 
not  share  it.  "  When  you  enter  the  house  of  a  blind 
man,"  says  an  Andalusian  proverb,  "  shut  your  eyes." 

XXXIX. 

» Prayer  has  a  right  to  the  word  ineffable.  It  is  an 
hour  of  outpourings,  which  words  cannot  express,  — 
of  that  interior  speech  which  we  do  not  articulate, 
even  when  we  employ  it. 

XL. 

Buffon  has  said,  "  The  style  is  the  man."  The 
prayer  also  is  the  man,  —  the  inner  man.  It  is  the 
Ecce-Homo,  uttered,  not  to  the  Jews,  but  to  God. 

XLI. 

We  should  abandon  ourselves  to  God  most  entire- 
ly when  he  seems  to  be  abandoning  us. 

XLII. 

Our  sins  are  as  far  transcended  by  the  divine  pity, 
as  the  innumerable  by  the  infinite. 

XLIII. 
Salvation  is  a  dual  work.     As  in  the  incarnation, 


THOUGHTS.  49 

there  is  implied  a  God  and  a  man,  —  divine  grace 
and  human  effort. 

XLIV. 

Christians  are  sometimes  weak  ;  but  does  any  but  a 
Christian  ever  strive  to  become  strong? 

XLV. 

There  is,  by  God's  grace,  an  immeasurable  distance 
between  late  and  too  late. 

XLYI. 

I  allow  the  Catholic  only  one  right ;  that,  namely, 
of  being  a  better  man  than  others. 

XL  VII. 

The  saints ,  though  rescued  from  the  dangers  which 
prove  fatal  to  the  majority  of  men,  are  still  not  ex- 
empt from  conflict.  The  world  has  stolen  from  the 
interior  life  the  law  which  ordains  that  a  man  can  be 
tried  only  by  his  peers.  Each  one  of  us  has  a  for- 
midable personal  foe ;  but  it  is  much  to  have  es- 
caped the  common  Enemy. 

XL  VIII. 

I  like  people  to  be  saints ;  but  I  want  them  to  be 
first,  and  superlatively,  honest  men. 

XLIX. 

The  root  of  sanctity  is  sanity.     A  man  must   be 
3 


50  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

healthy  before  he  can  be  holy.     We  bathe  first,  and 
then  perfume. 

L. 

There  are  admirable  examples  which,  when  applied 
by  the  weak  and  faulty  to  their  own  case,  are  trans- 
formed into  snares. 

LI. 

God  has  not  chosen  to  flatter  our  curiosity  by  any 
of  his  revelations.  What  he  reveals  to  man  is  the 
end  assigned  him,  and  the  means  of  attaining  that 
end.  Doctrine  and  morals  constitute  an  essential 
part  of  these  means. 

LII. 

God  has  entrusted  man  with  the  raw  material.  He 
creates  the  world,  and  gives  it  to  man  to  finish.  Man 
originates  nothing,  but  continues  and  develops  all 
things.  Speech  is  furnished  him ;  and  he  invents 
writing.  The  ocean,  fresh  from  God's  hands,  puts 
continents  asunder  :  man  makes  it  only  the  broadest 
of  highways.  The  earth  is  delivered  to  him  rough, 
and  often  sterile.  He  smooths  and  renders  it  pro- 
ductive. He  grafts  the  wild  stock.  And,  in  the 
plan  of  salvation,  the  sufferings  of  believers  finish 
and  perfect  the  passion  of  our  Lord. 

Mil. 

A  miracle  is  medicinal,  but  never  surgical ;  invis- 
ible in  its  action  and  known  only  in  its  results.  You 


THOUGHTS.  51 

see  it,  you  apprehend  it ;  but  you  do  not  find  that 
coarse  evidence  which  precludes  the  slightest  doubt. 
In  religion,  all  is  on  the  same  plan.  Light  is  ever 
mixed  with  darkness,  —  and  why?  That  faith  may 
be  a  virtue. 

LIV. 

If  we  look  closely  at  this  earth,  where  God  seems 
so  utterly  forgotten,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  he,  after 
all,  who  commands  the  most  fidelity  and  the  most 
love. 

LV. 

How  good  it  is  of  God,  to  have  said  in  so  many 
words  in  his  gospel,  "  He  that  loveth  father  or 
mother  more  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me  !  "  If 
these  words  had  not  been  spoken  for  the  eternal  jus- 
tification of  those  who  rise  above  their  natural  affec- 
tions, to  what  torture  would  it  not  have  exposed 
hearts  stung  by  the  love  of  God  !  For  their  trans- 
ports would  have  remained  the  same.  Equally  would 
they  have  been  possessed  by  a  feeling  of  the  empti- 
ness of  all  that  is  not  God,  and  an  impetuous  and 
exclusive  ardor  for  all  that  he  is.  The  lever  would 
have  been  as  powerful  as  now  ;  but,  —  with  no  support 
against  flesh  and  blood  in  the  express  word  of  God, 
—  how  much  doubt  and  uneasiness  this  ruling  pas- 
sion would  have  excited  in  their  minds  !  They  would 
still  have  loved  as  they  love  now ;  but  they  would 
have  dissimulated  in  their  actions,  and  concealed  the 
living  flame  from  all  eyes,  as  men  hide  a  shameful 


52  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

passion.  God  says  decisively  that  he  will  be  pre- 
ferred. He  does  not  merely  permit :  he  enjoins  it 
upon  all,  just  so  far  as  this  sentiment  may  be  re- 
conciled with  their  other  duties ;  and  there  are 
those  for  whom  all  duties  are  summed  up  in  the  gift 
of  themselves  to  God. 

LVI. 

Pantheism,  which  confounds  divine  and  human 
nature,  has  no  more  formidable  enemy  than  the  dog- 
ma of  the  incarnation,  which  unites  them  ;  for  there 
is  nothing  more  utterly  exclusive  of  identity  than 
union. 

LVII. 

The  Church,  —  it  is  an  inquiry  for  truth  upon 
earth. 

LVIII. 

"  Who  will  guard  the  guards  ?  "  says  a  Latin  verse  : 
"  Quis  custodiet  ipsos  cuslodes?"  I  answer,  The 
enemy.  It  is  the  enemy  who  keeps  the  sentinel 
watchful. 

LIX. 

We  can  neither  soar  very  high,  nor  dive  very 
deep,  without  coming  upon  one  of  two  regions  fertile 
in  truth ;  the  realm  of  God's  perfections,  and  that 
of  man's  misery. 

LX. 

In  religious  matters,  moderation  has  its  own  crim- 
inals, —  the  neutral. 


THOUGHTS.  53 

LXI. 

Faith  is  best  realized  in  sacrifice. 

LXII. 

The  Catholic  religion  is  like  exuberant  nature, — 
lavishing  its  treasures  in  the  very  desert,  and  in 
generous  disproportion,  not  to  the  needs,  but,  alas  ! 
to  the  disposition,  of  those  who  profit  by  them. 

LXIII. 

Where  the  principle  is  right,  God  excludes  noth- 
ing and  sacrifices  nothing ;  not  the  humblest  virtue 
to  the  loftiest,  not  the  smallest  truth  to  the  most  sub- 
lime. 

LXIV. 

Miracles  are  God's  coups  d'etat. 

LXV. 

The  heart  of  the  true  Christian  cannot  be  opened 
without  there  escaping  thence  gold,  incense,  and  — 
alas  !  — myrrh  also. 

LXVI. 

Nothing  is  exempt  from  the  universal  doom  of  de- 
generation and  disintegration.  Evil  shows  its  head, 
its  sharp  tooth,  its  fang.  A  certain  amount  of  evil 
is  done ;  but  it  is  limited  and  separable.  The  Re- 
deemer is  ever  on  the  watch. 


54  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

LXVII. 

Defensive  warfare,  in  the  cause  of  religion,  is  the 
most  noble  of  all ;  offensive,  the  most  hateful. 

LXVIII. 

The  Christian's  cup  may  be  brimful  of  sorrow  ;  but 
for  him  the  overflowing  drop  is  never  added. 

LXIX. 

When  two  conflicting  truths  are  brought  face  to 
face,  we  must  accept  neither.  We  must  tell  our- 
selves that  there  is  a  third  withheld  among  the  secrets 
of  God ;  which,  when  it  is  revealed,  will  reconcile 
them. 

LXX. 

The  depths  of  the  soul  are  a  labyrinth,  and  dark 
without  the  torch  of  religion.  Left  to  ourselves,  we 
are  like  subterranean  waters,  —  we  reflect  only  the 
gloomy  vault  of  human  destiny. 

LXXI. 

There  are  souls,  of  every  age  and  every  clime, 
which  are  contemporaries  and  compatriots. 

LXXII. 

The  very  might  of  the  human  intellect  reveals  its 
limits. 

LXXIII. 

Our  gains  are  proportioned  to  our  possessions. 


THOUGHTS.  55 

LXXIV. 

Writing  with  a  pencil  is  like  speaking  in  a  low 
voice. 

LXXV. 

It  is  but  just  that  we  should  purchase  our  plea- 
sures, but  the  moment  when  we  pay  is  a  hard  one. 

LXXVI. 

Every  better  moment  deepens  our  regrets. 

LXXVII. 

Language  itself  declares  the  inferiority  of  the  col- 
lective to  the  singular.  To  begin  with  a  Supreme 
example,  compare  what  we  feel  when  we  say,  the 
gods,  and  God  ;  men,  and  man.  And  so  in  inferior 
matters  :  an  assurance  of  regard  is  a  promise  of 
affection  ;  to  present  one's  regards  is  only  an  amen- 
ity. One  may  speak  of  his  friends,  without  either 
having  or  giving  the  idea  that  he  has  a  friend.  Re- 
spect is  a  serious  thing  for  him  who  feels  it,  and  the 
height  of  honor  for  him  who  inspires  the  feeling ;  my 
respects  are  but  a  formula.  An  interest  in  life  is  all 
we  can  desire.  Our  interests  are  next  to  nothing. 
It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  give  occasion  for  a  compli- 
ment. My  compliments  run  at  large.  Everybody 
has  enemies.  To  have  an  enemy  is  quite  another 
thing.  One  must  be  somebody  in  order  to  have  an 
enemy.  One  must  be  a  force,  before  he  can  be  re- 
sisted by  another  force. 


56  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

»  LXXVIII. 

Immortality  !  If  man  had  it  not,  his  soul  would 
miss  not  merely  the  future,  but  the  past ;  for  these 
two  are  correlative.  Without  God  and  ourselves, 
the  past  would  be  nowhere.  Nothingness  would  be 
behind  and  before  us,  and  memory  as  vain  as  hope. 

LXXIX. 

Truth  only  is  prolific.  Error,  sterile  in  itself, 
produces  only  by  means  of  the  portion  of '  truth 
which  it  contains.  It  may  have  offspring,  but  the 
life  which  it  gives  —  like  that  of  the  hybrid  races 
—  cannot  be  transmitted. 

LXXX. 

Let  us  never  seek  for  truth  outside  the  Church, 
nor  leave  it  torpid  in  her  bosom. 

LXXXI. 

The  trace  of  original  sin  is  found  in  every  soul, 
like  that  of  the  deluge  on  the  highest  mountains. 

LXXXII. 

I  see  none  but  God  who  can  reconcile  us  with  the 
world. 


THOUGHTS.  57 


CHAPTER   II. 

ON   THE    WORLD. ON   THE    AFFECTIONS.  •*—  ON    DIFFER- 
ENT  AGES. ON   POLITICS.      ' 


I. 

LET  my  terrace  face  the  East !  There  is  a  myste- 
rious affinity  between  this  fancy  of  mine  and  my 
decided  taste  for  the  dawn  of  excellent  things.  Of 
all  "  rising  suns  "  I  except  only  that  of  prosperity  ; 
but  I  bow  like  a  true  courtier  before  the  earliest  rays 
of  piety,  virtue,  and  talent. 

II. 

When  society  is  good  for  me,  I  need  everybody ; 
when  bad,  nobody. 

in. 

I  love  to  please  those  who  please  me,  and  I  do 
not  hate  to  displease  those  who  please  me  not.  So 
I  am  sympathetic  even  in  my  antipathies. 

IV. 

Man  always  exaggerates  his  own  importance,  and 
underrates  his  own  worth. 

3* 


58  WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

V. 

The  best  advice  on  the  art  of  being  happy  is  about 
as  easy  to  follow  as  advice  to  be  well  when  one  is 
sick. 

VI. 

Providence*  has  hidden  a  charm  in  difficult  under- 
takings, which  is  appreciated  only  by  those  who 
dare  to  grapple  with  them. 

VII. 

The  gift  of  birth  is  a  very  different  thing  from  the 
gift  of  life.  To  be  born  is  to  have  every  chance  of 
a  blessed  immortality ;  to  live  is  too  often  to  forfeit 
them  all. 

VIII. 

It  is  not  true  that  heavy  sorrows  diminish  our 
sensibility  to  trifling  pains. 

IX. 

Misfortune  has  few  riddles  for  him  who  believes 
that  the  sole  design  of  Providence  is  the  perfecting 
of  mankind. 

x. 

A  great  sorrow  does  not  always  contain  the  ruin 
of  a  great  joy. 

XI. 

In  a  healthy  state  of  the  organism,  all  wounds 
have  a  tendency  to  heal. 


THOUGHTS.  59 

/ 
XII. 

There  is  that  in  the  impetuosity  of  passion,  which 
precludes  the  idea  of  moral  corruption.  The  waves 
of  the  torrent  are  troubled,  and  foam,  and  stir  up 
the  very  mud  of  its  bed ;  but  only  immobility 
makes  water  stagnant  and  induces  that  slow  and 
general  decomposition  which  alters  the  very  essence 
of  the  element. 

XIII. 

I  am  not  the  one  to  be  severe  upon  despair  :  I 
know  too  well  how  much  courage  is  needed  to 
resist  it. 

XIV. 

The  hidden  good  in  the  soul  of  a  sinner  would 
reconcile  me  to  the  guiltiest.  The  evil  I  encounter 
in  the  virtuous  repels,  and  renders  me  inexorable. 
Do  I  excuse  too  much  in  the  one  case,  and  demand 
too  much  in  the  other? 

XV. 

Whenever  there  is  any  thing  inexplicable  in  the 
conduct  of  estimable  people,  we  must  found  our 
hypotheses  on  our  esteem. 

XVI. 

Superior  qualities  are  never  conscious  of  them- 
selves. Who  ever  thought  himself  humble  without 
being  made  proud  by  that  very  fact?  Does  not 


60  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

generosity  believe  that   it   owes   all   it   gives ;    and 
when  did  innocence  ever  know  itself  to  be  chaste? 

xvn. 

I  can  understand  contempt  for  actions.  Contempt 
for  men  I  do  not  allow  myself  to  feel ;  and  I  find  no 
trace  of  it  in  holy  writ.  For  who,  let  me  ask,  is  the 
man  whom  we  despise  to-day?  One  whom  we  may 
be  forced  to  admire  to-morrow.  In  the  infinite  re- 
sources which  God  has  placed  in  the  depths  of  every 
human  soul,  there  is  a  power  of  reaction,  repara- 
tion, and  rehabilitation,  which  transcends  the  utmost 
limits  of  evil.  By  God's  grace  the  most  abject  of 
his  creatures  may  rise  to  the  rank  of  a  celestial  force. 
Only  things  that  cannot  change  deserve  contempt, 
—  the  void  left  by  pleasures  ardently  pursued,  the 
honors  and  emoluments  which  the  sages  of  this 
world  are  so  far  from  despising. 

XVIII. 

Consolation  is  not  the  business  of  our  equals  :  the 
Master  reserves  that  to  himself.  But  we  may  learn 
the  conditions  which  fit  us  to  receive  sovereign  con- 
solation. 

XIX. 

There  is  no  place  like  a  convent  for  keeping  one's 
memories  fresh,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  country, 
though  in  a  very  inferior  degree.  In  great  cities, 


THOUGHTS.  61 

the  absent  are  already  dead  ;  and  the  dead,  as  if  they 
had  never  been. 


If  we  would  be  equal  to  difficult  undertakings, 
we  must  prepare  for  them  long  beforehand. 

XXI. 

There  is  a  species  of  interlocutor  who  rides  at 
anchor.  His  silence  follows  your  speech,  and  he 
makes  no  attempt  to  comprehend  or  enter  into  it. 
You  feel  executed  without  being  judged. 

XXII. 

The  dilution  of  ideas  which  I  love  is  intolerable 
to  me.  I  like  sugar,  and  hate  sirup. 

XXIII. 

In  the  matter  of  criticism,  I  not  merely  respect 
severity  in  the  examination  of  serious  questions,  — 
I  like  it :  I  do  not  want  the  cup  sweetened.  Only, 
truth  upon  one  point  necessitates  the  same  upon 
all  others,  and  blame  expressed  implies  commen- 
dation wherever  it  is  possible. 

XXIV. 

He  who  is  not  allowed  to  blame  has  a  right  to 
withhold  his  praise. 


62  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XXV. 

Where  there  is  a  question  of  economy,  I  prefer 
privation. 

XXVI. 

When  man  revolts  against  the  gospel,  he  takes 
another  master,  —  himself:  one  who  renders  all 
inferior  masters  possible. 

XXVII. 

To  do  nothing  is  not  always  to  lose  one's  time. 
To  do  what  we  do  carelessly,  is  to  lose  it  inevitably. 
It  is  weariness  without  profit. 

XXVIII. 

Situations  are  like  skeins  of  thread  or  silk.  To 
make  the  most  of  them,  we  need  only  to  take  them 
by  the  right  end. 

XXIX. 

We  have  no  right  to  force  the  conscience  of  him 
to  whom  we  deny  liberty. 

XXX. 

"Judge  not,"  saith  the  Lord  :  the  justice  of  which 
is  obvious,  in  a  world  where  there  are  no  innocent  to 
judge  the  guilty. 

XXXI. 

God  himself  allows  certain  faults ;  and  often  we 
may  say,  "I  have  deserved  to  err.  I  have  deserved 
to  be  ignorant. 


THOUGHTS.  63 

XXXII. 

Let  us  shun  every  thing  which  might  tend  to  efface 
the  primitive  lineaments  of  our  individuality.  Let 
us  reflect  that  each  one  of  us  is  a  thought  of  God. 

XXXIII. 

We  deceive  ourselves  when  we  fancy  that  only 
weakness  needs  support.  Strength  needs  it  far  more. 
A  straw  or  a  feather  sustains  itself  long  in  the  air. 

XXXIV. 

We  often  need  to  ask  advice ;  not  always  that  we 
may  follow  it,  but  always  that  we  may  obtain  more 
light. 

XXXV. 

Every  one  must  find  out  for  himself  the  key  to  the 
riddle  of  life.  It  is  of  no  use  to  have  it  told.  Some 
do  not  hear  ;  others  misunderstand  it. 

XXXVI. 

What  we  need  most  is  often  the  very  thing  we  do 
not  know.  Often,  also,  we  can  make  no  use  of  what 
we  do  know . 

XXXVII. 

The  best  of  lessons,  for  a  good  many  people,  would 
be  to  listen  at  a  key-hole.  'Tis  a  pity  for  such  that 
the  practice  is  dishonorable. 


64  WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XXXVIII. 

We  forgive  too  little — forget  too  much. 

XXXIX. 

We  must  do  every  thing  for  others ;  if  only  to  di- 
vert our  minds  from  what  they  fail  to  do  for  us. 

XL. 

Only  those  faults  which  we  encounter  in  ourselves 
are  insufferable  to  us  in  others. 

XLI. 

By  entering  into  the  thought  of  another,  we  recon- 
cile him  to  our  own. 

XLII. 

Our  actual  wants  have  definite  conditions  and  lim- 
its. Our  factitious  ones  obey  no  interior  law,  but 
run  wild,  without  rule  or  measure.  "Now  that  I  am 
no  longer  hungry,"  said  Mine,  de  Sevigne*,  "I  will 
eat  as  much  as  you  please." 

XLIII. 

Good  is  slow :  it  climbs.  Evil  is  swift :  it  de- 
scends. Why  should  we  marvel  that  it  makes  great 
progress  in  a  short  time? 

XLIV. 
One  must  be  a  believer,  to   combat  superstition ; 


THOUGHTS.  65 

liberal,  to  contend  against  license ;  profoundly  reli- 
gious, before  he  can  reprove  fanaticism  and  extol 
tolerance. 

XLV. 

There  are  cases  where  a  thing  which  is  only  rea- 
sonable, ceases  to  be  so  for  that  very  reason. 

XLVI. 

Morality  is  the  heart's  truth ;  faith,  that  of  the 
understanding. 

XLVII. 

Consolation  heals  without  contact ;  somewhat  like 
the  blessed  air  which  we  need  but  to  breathe. 

XL  VIII. 

One  who  is  very  variable  cannot  be  very  sincere  : 
to-day's  truth  is  to-morrow's  falsehood ;  or,  at  least, 
it  is  but  a  momentary  sincerity. 

XJLJX. 

We  owe  the  truth  to  all  who  ask  it ;  but,  thank 
God,  we  are  not  obliged  to  convince  them  of  it. 

L. 

Might  we  not  say  to  the  confused  voices  which 
sometimes  arise  from  the  depths  of  our  being,  "  Mes- 
dames,  be  so  kind  as  to  speak  only  four  at  a  time  "? 


66  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 


LI. 


Situations  where  success  is  indispensable  are  bad. 
Those  only  are  good  in  which  the  peaceful  conscience 
can  dispense  with  success,  when  all  is  done. 


LII. 

I  once  said  to  some  one,  "You  represent  to  me 
that  degree  of  moral  worth  which  one  must  have,  in 
order  to  deserve  punishment." 

LIII. 

Philosophers  say  that  causation  plays  a  great  part 
in  the  history  of  our  faults,  especially  those  of  habit. 
It  is  in  their  causes  that  these  must  be  attacked.  We 
need  to  contend,  not  so  much  against  the  actions 
themselves,  as  the  dispositions  out  of  which  they 
spring.  Go  back  to  the  fountain,  if  you  would  pu- 
rify the  stream. 

LIV. 

It  is  not  so  hard  as  people  suppose,  to  be  faithful 
to  one's  engagements.  The  engagement  which  is  to 
be  kept,  keeps  you  in  its  turn.  It  cuts  hesitation  to 
the  quick,  and  protects  the  will  with  all  the  power  of 
a  promulgated  decree. 

LV. 

Moral  or  intellectual  evidence  has  other  laws  than 
physical  evidence,  but  it  is  not  one  whit  less  author- 
itative. There  is  a  species  of  proposition  to  which 


THOUGHTS.  67 

you  must  assent,  as  you  must  surrender  when  a  hun- 
dred bayonets  are  pointed  at  your  breast. 

LVI. 

If  you  speak  the  truth  with  moderation ,  —  separ- 
ating its  substance  from  all  alloy  of  human  passion, 
—  you  are  not  to  blame  for  the  wrathful  opposition 
it  may  encounter.  But,  if  you  strain  it,  if  you 
wrest  it  from  its  sacred  impassibility,  if  you  do 
not  maintain  it  with  absolute  sincerity,  —  you  are 
responsible  for  the  revolt  which  it  excites,  and  for 
the  consequences  which  may  ensue. 

LVII. 

He  who  serves  ideas  rather  than  men  is  never  de- 
ceived. Ideas  may  triumph,  or  not ;  but  they  never 
cease  to  be  themselves. 

LVIII. 

That  a  man  should  enjoy  publishing  his  writings, 
seems  to  me  very  natural.  Ideas  and  facts  belong  to 
him.  But  greater  reserve  is,  in  my  opinion,  incum- 
bent upon  women,  who  have  only  their  feelings  to 
express,  — for  feeling  loves  a  subdued  light.  When 
a  man  shows  himself,  he  accomplishes  his  mission  : 
to  let  themselves  be  seen  is  the  utmost  that  is  allow- 
able, for  the  women  of  Europe. 


68  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

LIX. 

Why  did  the  Invincible  Armada  perish,  despite 
the  beauty  of  its  vessels,  and  the  long-tried  experi- 
ence of  its  mariners  ?  Probably  the  very  fact  that  it 
called  itself  invincible  had  some  share  in  its  defeat. 
God  allows  us  the  epithet  only  after  the  fact. 

LX. 

Nothing  can  be  replaced ;  for  the  excellent  reason , 
that  no  two  things  are  alike. 

LXI. 

We  should  never  sin  if  we  kept  constantly  before 
our  eyes  the  Last  Judgment,  or  even  our  own.  The 
grand  assizes  of  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  begin  for 
us  each  day. 

LXII. 

We  never  do  very  well,  except  in  those  cases 
where  if  we  did  otherwise  we  should  not  do  ill. 

LXIII. 

In  this  world  of  change,  naught  which  comes 
stays,  and  naught  which  goes  is  lost. 

LXIV. 

Every  time  we  have  committed  a  fault,  we  must 
aim  anew  at  perfection,  —  and  all  the  more  if  the  fault 
be  a  grievous  one, — thus  putting  faith  and  trust  in 


THOUGHTS.  69 

God  in  the  place  marked  by  nature  with  discourage- 
ment. 

LXV. 

There  is  a  certain  water  in  the  world  whose  taste 
never  varies,  be  the  hand  that  offers  it  constitutional, 
monarchical,  republican,  or  autocratic.  It  is  the 
holy  water  of  courts.  Everywhere  you  find  it  clear, 
colorless,  and  insipid. 

LXVI. 

When  we  see  the  shameful  fortunes  amassed  in  all 
quarters  of  the  globe,  are  we  not  impelled  to  exclaim 
that  Judas's  thirty  pieces  of  silver  have  fructified 
across  the  centuries? 

LXVII. 

The  only  true  method  of  action  in  this  world,  is  to 
be  in  it,  but  not  of  it. 

LXVIII. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  world,  marriage  ends  all ;  as 
it  does  in  a  comedy.  The  truth  is  precisely  the 
reverse.  It  begins  all.  So  they  say  of  death,  "It 
is  the  end  of  all  things."  Yes — just  as  much  as 
marriage. 

LXIX. 

M.  Ballanche  says,  that  people  must  be  of  the 
same  mind  in  order  to  dispute.  It  is  very  true ; 
just  as,  to  strike,  one  must  be  near  enough  for  con- 


70  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

tact.     The  cannon-ball  attains  a  vast  distance  ;  but, 
one  hair's  breadth  beyond  its  range,  its  force  is  nil. 

LXX. 

It  must  be  conceded  that,  after  affection,  habit  has 
its  peculiar  value.  It  is  a  little  stream,  which  flows 
softly,  but  freshens  every  thing  along  its  course. 

LXXI. 

When  two  people  agree  upon  fundamentals,  even 
if  they  do  not  suit  one  another  they  have  many 
points  of  contact.  But  this  spiritual  commerce  is 
never  like  the  sailing  abreast  of  two  ships  on  the 
open  sea.  It  is  a  kind  of  coasting-trade  from  one 
port  to  another.  No  progress  is  made,  and  to  meet 
is  not  to  voyage  together. 

LXXII. 

There  are  minds  like  those  Chinese  ladies  who 
cripple  themselves  out  of  coquetry. 

LXXIII. 

The  mysticism  of  the  heart  is  of  a  better  quality, 
and  far  safer,  than  the  mysticism  of  the  head. 

LXXIV. 

People  who  are  in  a  hurry  to  speak  have  seldom 
any  thing  to  say.  Thought  and  ideas  presuppose 
an  intellectual  effort. 


THOUGHTS.  71 

LXXY. 

Antiquity  is  a  species  of  aristocracy  with  which 
it  is  not  easy  to  be  on  visiting  terms. 

LXXVI. 

The  choicest  of  the  public  are  not  always  the 
public  choice. 

LXXVIT. 

I  have  often  seen  pious  persons  very  attractive 
to  those  who  are  not  so.  The  life  of  piety,  the 
unction  it  breathes,  that  interior  prism  radiating 
outward,  exercise  a  charm  inexplicable  even  to  the 
hearts  that  feel  it. 

LXXVIII. 

It  was  said  of  Mgr.  Affre,  — "  He  is  hard  and 
cold."  Yes,  —  and  so  is  marble  ;  but  beautiful  things 
are  made  of  it  constantly. 

LXXIX. 

Whenever  disparagement  sums  up  by  denying  the 
existence  of  any  given  quality,  you  may  be  sure 
that 'the  quality  exists  in  some  degree.  "Such  a 
one,"  people  say,  "has  no  mind."  Yet  he  must  have 
a  little,  or  they  would  not  take  pains  to  establish  the 
contrary. 

LXXX. 

Intolerance  on  the  part  of  the  philosophical  and 
indifferent,  —  that  most  illogical  combination, — re- 


72  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

minds   one  of  the  jealousy  of  women   who   do   not 
love  their  husbands. 

LXXXI. 

How  many  people  are  like  dogs  who  seem  to  be 
looking  for  a  master ! 

LXXXII. 

It  is  under  the  seemingly  identical  influence  of 
the  same  passion  that  the  diversities  of  individual 
character  come  out.  Pride  leads  one  to  what  would 
be  the  extreme  of  humiliation  for  another. 

LXXXIII. 

Of  how  many  people  it  may  be  said  that  their 
penetration  is  never  quite  subordinated  to  their  sense 
of  justice,  save  when  it  can  promise  them  the  pleas- 
ure of  disapproval ! 

LXXXI  V. 

The  great  danger  of  gifted  people  is,  that  they  are 
not  much  better  assured  than  others  against  falling 
into  error ;  while  they  have  a  great  many  more  ways 
of  rendering  it  harmful. 

LXXXV. 

When  party-spirit,  with  all  its  passionate  exag- 
gerations, gets  possession  of  a  mediocre  intellect,  it 
deals  the  final  blow.  The  poor  soul  never  had  light ; 
and  now  it  loses  liberty.  It  must  perforce  return 


THOUGHTS.  73 

upon  itself,  describing  ever  narrower  and  narrower 
circles. 

LXXXVI. 

There  are  people  whose  good  fortune  it  is,  never 
to  be  deceived  or  undeceived  save  when  their  in- 
terest requires  it.  The  way  the  right  becomes  dim  or 
luminous  to  them  is  always  marvellously  opportune. 

LXXXVII. 

The  great  need  of  many  is  an  interlocutor.  They 
have  listened,  and  then  they  have  spoken,  but  they 
have  never  had  an  opportunity  either  to  converse  or 
to  respond. 

LXXXVIII. 

Many  friendships  subsist  on  the  reflection  of  one. 
To  love  deeply  in  one  direction  makes  us  more  loving 
in  all  others. 

LXXXIX. 

The  old  friendships,  —  safe,  genuine,  and  firmly 
built, — for  which  we  take  little  thought,  and  which 
always  avail  us,  are  like  those  good  thick  walls  of 
by-gone  days ;  which  need  no  repairs  and  are  ever 
ready  for  shelter  or  defence. 

xc. 

There  are  hearts  whose  mere  kindness  sheds  more 
rays  than  the  love  of  others,  as  the  moon  of  Naples 
shines  with  a  softer  splendor  than  many  a  sun. 

4 


74  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHIJSE. 

XCI. 

To  love  our  friends  is  often  not  enough  to  satisfy 
them.  We  must  also  hate  those  whom  they  do  not 
love. 

XCII. 

The  ideal  of  friendship  is  to  feel  as  one  while 
remaining  two. 

XCIII. 

Demonstrations  of  affection,  in  this  world,  are,  for 
the  most  part,  payment  in  counterfeit  money.  Yet 
some  counters  are  better  gilded  than  others. 

xciv. 

A  vast  number  of  attachments  subsist  on  the 
common  hatred  of  a  third  person. 

xcv. 

What  do  we  need  to  make  us  considerate  ?  Much 
good  sense,  and  a  drop  of  pity  in  the  heart. 

xcvi. 

We  are  amused  through  the  intellect,  but  'tis  the 
heart  that  saves  us  from  ennui. 

XCVII. 

The  heart  has  always  the  pardoning-power. 


THOUGHTS.  75 


XCVIII. 


Youth  should  be  a  savings-bank. 


xcix. 

A  woman  who  consecrates  her  fidelity  to  a  sinful 
affection  is  like  those  workmen  who  substitute  Mon- 
day for  Sunday. 

c. 

While  we  are  still  young,  we  enhance  our  youth 
coquettishly  for  this  world's  sake.  When  we  are 
old,  we  think  to  deceive  death  so. 

ci. 

Years  do  not  make  sages :  they  only  make  old 
men. 

en. 

In  youth,  grief  comes  with  a  rush  and  overflow, 
but  it  dries  up,  too,  like  the  torrent.  In  the  winter 
of  life  it  remains  a  miserable  pool,  resisting  all  evap- 
oration. 

cm. 

A  woman  in  years  pleases  an  old  man  least  of  all. 

Civ. 

When  we  are  old,  we  may  sometimes  enlighten, 
but  we  can  no  longer  persuade. 


76  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

CV. 

Old  age  has  nothing  to  expect  from  men,  but 
every  thing  from  God.  Its  helplessness  is  greater 
than  that  of  infancy  ;  for  infancy  finds  universal  sym- 
pathy with  its  weakness,  but  the  only  arm  which 
can  support  the  aged  is  the  arm  of  the  Lord.  De- 
spite his  misery,  the  old  man  is  like  a  king,  —  be- 
holden to  God  alone. 

cvi. 

The  void  left  by  death  is  sometimes  greater  than 
the  place  filled  in  life. 

CVII. 

Unhappily,  they  only  whose  life  is  secluded,  seek 
retirement. 

CVIII. 

The  most  conspicuous  benefit  of  retirement  is,  that 
we  issue  from  it  ever  more  satisfied  with  God,  and 
less  satisfied  with  ourselves. 

CIX. 

Our  habits,  our  external  arrangements,  our  dwell- 
ings, and  the  order  which  we  observe  in  them,  are 
but  the  extension  of  our  personality.  We  are  all 
more  or  less  like  spiders,  —  stretching  out  a  web 
made  of  our  own  substance. 

ex. 

We  do  not  sufficiently  consider  that  the  genuine, 


THOUGHTS.  77 

undisputed  blessings  —  such  as  youth,  strength,  vir- 
tue, talent,  and  health  —  are  blessings  shared  by  all. 
With  regard  to  these,  there  is  no  privileged  class. 

CXI. 

So  I  must  remain  a  fixture  in  Paris  !  What  mat- 
ters it,  after  all?  The  sky,  the  streams,  the  woods, 
—  that  is  to  say,  God,  his  grace,  and  the  safe  asy- 
lum where  we  are  flooded  with  its  joy,  —  are  not 
these  everywhere? 

cxn. 

Eailroads  will  greatly  injure  our  dwellings ;  but, 
as  to  our  affections,  they  can  only  harm  themselves. 

CXIII. 

In  the  age  in  which  we  live,  the  impossible  is 
every  day  losing  ground. 

cxiv. 

Our  age  is  so  evidently  an  age  of  signal  frankness, 
that  even  the  apothecaries  do  not  gild  their  pills. 

cxv. 

People  read  every  thing  nowadays,  except  books. 

cxvi. 

There  are  times  when  it  would  seem  as  if  God 
fished  with  a  line,  and  the  devil  with  a  net. 


78  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

CXVII. 

America  has  begun  her  career  at  the  culminating 
point  of  life ;  as  Adam  did  at  the  age  of  thirty. 

CXVIII. 

Revolutions  use  one  to  seeing  in  the  vanquished 
of  to-day  the  victor  of  to-morrow.  The  constant 
thought  of  surprises  makes  us  instinctively  provide 
for  all  times  in  one.  There  is  no  oblivion  save  that 
of  eternity.  We  neither  extol  nor  defend  what  is, 
and  we  smile  at  what  may  be. 

CXIX. 

France  is  so  strong  that  she  need  proscribe  but 
one  thing,  —  proscription. 

cxx. 

However  sound  and  loyal  one  may  be,  it  is  ex- 
tremely hard  always  to  side  with  the  party  in  the 
midst  of  which  one  lives. 

CXXI. 

Those  who  undertake  the  government  of  a  country 
with  the  avowed  purpose  of  regenerating  it,  seem  to 
me  like  women  who  marry  in  the  hope  of  converting 
their  future  lords.  The  rashness  of  the  enterprise 
would  be  more  conspicuous,  if  the  former  did  not,  at 
all  events,  obtain  power,  and  the  latter  a  husband. 


THOUGHTS.  79 

CXXII. 

The  real  state  of  a  nation  or  a  man  is  as  hard  to 
determine  as  the  true  time.  Every  one  goes  habitu- 
ally by  his  own  watch,  —  M.  Arago  as  well  as  an- 
other. 

CXXIII. 

God  transforms,  purifies,  perfects.  There  are 
certain  schools  which  can  only  mutilate,  cut  off,  and 
destroy.  God's  mode  of  procedure  seems  to  dis- 
please them.  They  like  exclusion  better  than  selec- 
tion. 

cxxiv. 

I  love  the  standard,  but  not  the  uniform. 

cxxv. 

Liberty  must  be  a  mighty  thing ;  for  by  it  God 
punishes  and  rewards  nations. 

cxxvi. 

Liberty  has  no  actual  rights  which  are  not  grafted 
upon  justice  :  and  the  chief  duty  of  liberty  is  to 
defend  justice. 

cxxvu. 

If  the  wind  is  not  in  the  right  quarter,  nothing  can 
be  done.  Danger  itself  has  no  threat  or  menace. 
It  is  the  same  in  politics  as  in  religion,  when  souls 
are  to  be  converted.  Till  the  hour  of  free  grace 
strikes,  the  most  persuasive  voice,  the  best  of  books, 


80  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

the  greatest  orators,  the  tenderest  whisper  of  the 
most  ardent  zeal,  —  all  are  powerless  with  the  heart, 
which  is  not  exactly  hard,  scarcely  heedless,  and  by 
no  means  corrupt.  It  is  somewhat  like  love,  which 
comes  when  it  pleases.  In  vain  you  accumulate 
torches.  The  damp  wood  smokes,  perhaps,  but  it 
will  not  light ;  but,  after  a  while,  when  the  wind  has 
dried  it,  a  single  match  will  set  the  whole  in  a  blaze. 

CXXVIII. 

France  has  only  repudiated  incomplete  and  incon- 
sequent doctrines.  She  awaits  the  signal  which  shall 
permit  her  to  breathe  in  her  institutions  an  air  clearer 
than  that  of  doubt,  more  strengthening  than  that  of 
schism,  holier  than  that  of  personal  interest.  The 
suitor  for  whom  she  waits  is  God. 


CXXIX. 

I  see  the  earth  tilled,  but  I  do  not  see  the  seed. 

cxxx. 

France  does  not  desire  revolutions  ;  but — whether 
she  knows  it  or  not —  she  desires  revolution. 

OXXXI. 

Loyalty  is  patriotism  simplified. 


THOUGHTS.  81 

CXXXII. 

I  have  never  dreaded  but  one  thing,  —  the  abso- 
lute triumph  of  an  individual. 

CXXXIII. 

I  love  victory,  but  I  love  not  triumph. 

CXXXIV. 

It  is  difficult  —  and  I  would  it  were  impossible  — 
for  a  statesman  to  defend  a  line  of  policy  contrary  to 
his  instincts  and  principles.  There  is  a  moral  in  a 
man's  falling  with  the  system  he  has  sustained. 

cxxxv. 

When  any  one  tells  you  that  he  belongs  to  no 
party,  you  may  at  any  rate  be  sure  that  he  does  not 
belong  to  yours. 

CXXXVI. 

When  men  attain  freedom  for  which  they  are  un- 
prepared, their  faults  are  exaggerated.  The  strong 
become  violent ;  the  weak,  lax. 

cxxxvu. 

There  are  two  ways  of  attaining  an  important  end, 
—  force  and  perseverance.  Force  falls  to  the  lot  only 
of  the  privileged  few,  but  austere  and  sustained  per- 
severance can  be  practised  by  the  most  insignificant. 
Its  silent  power  grows  irresistible  with  time. 

4* 


SOME  PAGES   FEOM  AN  ALBUM 

PRESENTED  BY  MADAME   SWETCHINE 
ON   A   MARRIAGE-EVE. 


A  LFEED  has  given  you,  dear  Mary,  a  book  con- 
•*-^-  taining  your  mutual  vows,  —  a  joint  utterance 
which  may  well  call  down  the  blessings  of  Heaven 
upon  your  union.  To  this  sacred  volume  permit  me 
to  add  another,  whose  fair  pages  contain  as  yet  only 
the  image  of  her  whose  name  you  bear,1  and  who  has 
been  given  you  for  a  mother  in  heaven  by  your  ex- 
cellent mother  on  earth. 

Thus,  —  while  under  the  inspiration  of  the  Church 
which  has  consecrated  them,  your  hearts,  clinging  to 
the  words  of  Alfred's  book,  shall  soar  heavenward 
with  these,  —  I  anticipate  for  my  little  album  a  des- 
tiny humbler,  but  not  less  sweet.  Let  it  receive  the 
confession  of  your  spontaneous  and  inmost  emotions, 
—  of  the  pious  thoughts  which  your  very  happiness 
shall  suggest  ;  for,  if  pleasure  is  rarely  Christian, 
nothing  is  so  justly  dependent  upon  conscience  as 
happiness. 

1  The  Album  opens  with  a  picture  of  the  Virgin. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  AN  ALBUM.         83 

My  dear  friends,  I  love  to  think  that  these  leaves 
will  "  receive  "  your  thoughts  and  feelings  commin- 
gled, and  that  what  is  traced  by  the  hand  of  each  in 
turn  will  find  a  swift  and  sure  echo  in  the  heart  of 
the  other.  What  need  of  more  than  one  word  to  ex- 
press the  thought  of  two  hearts  really  united  ?  From 
one  and  the  same  cup  you  are  to  drink  the  life  that 
God  has  appointed  you.  Sat  una  duabus.  The  same 
page  will  yield  you  its  reflections.  Some  day,  long 
hence,  these  little  records  will  assist  you  to  go  back 
the  way  you  have  come  ;  and  to  retrace  the  duties  you 
have  accomplished,  and  the  efforts  you  have  made, 
together ;  —  many  a  joy  turned  to  profit ;  many  a 
rapture  concealed  in  sorrow,  even,  if  sorrow  has  been 
freely  shared  ;  and  all  by  means  of  living  souvenirs 
and  dates  understood  by  you  alone.  And  I,  too,  shall 
sometimes  be  associated  with  the  little  book  which  is 
to  pass  from  my  hands  into  yours.  You  must  call  to 
mind  that,  when  I  gave  it  you,  I  blessed  you  a  thou- 
sand times ;  that,  even  before  I  knew  you,  dear 
Mary,  I  loved  you,  and  that  you  had  a  share  in  my 
hopes  before  you  crowned  those  of  the  heart  that  has 
chosen  you. 

Come  quickly,  then,  and  take  your  part,  and  dou- 
ble mine,  in  the  sweets  of  a  deeply  cherished  affec- 
tion, and  let  me  believe  that  some  memory  of  me 
will  always  live  in  the  fond  and  faithful  hearts  of 
you  both. 

MAY  12,  1841. 


ON  THE 


REPROACH    OF    EXCLUSIVENESS 


INCURRED  BY  THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH. 


"V\  7HAT  shall  we  say  to  the  accusation  of  reli- 
*  *  gious  exclusiveness,  which  they  bring  against 
the  Catholic  Church  ?  If  it  is  to  be  understood  in  the 
sense  of  philosophical  and  logical  intolerance,  it  may 
be  remarked  that  the  Church  has  this  in  common 
with  every  positive  system  ;  which  by  affirming  truth 
on  the  one  hand,  necessarily  implies  error  as  its  con- 
tradictory. The  very  existence  of  any  given  sect  de- 
pends upon  its  preferring  itself  to  all  others  ;  because 
the  propositions  to  which,  individually  and  collective- 
ly, it  yields  adherence,  represent,  for  that  sect,  abso- 
lute truth.  The  sciences  are  no  less  positive  in 
reference  to  the  subjects  of  which  they  treat.  How, 
then,  is  the  Catholic  Church  peculiarly  exclusive? 

There  is  a  religion,  of  which  exclusiveness  is  the 
most  striking  characteristic,  — the  Jewish.  It  begins 
by  concentrating  all  God's  promises  upon  a  single 
nation.  It  is  exclusive  ;  not  because  it  believes  itself 
in  sole  possession  of  the  truth,  but  because  it  consid- 


ON  THE  REPROACH  OF  EXCLUSIVENESS.    85 

ers  that  the  promises  were  designed  for  one  particular 
race,  —  for  men  with  the  same  blood  in  their  veins, 
not  for  kindred  spirits.  Here,  then,  is  actual  exclu- 
sion ;  for  it  is  plain  that  by  no  voluntary  exercise, 
either  of  human  or  divine  power,  can  a  man  be  made 
to  belong  to  a  race,  a  tribe,  a  nation  other  than  his 
own.  Consequently,  the  religion  of  the  Hebrews  is 
less  proselyting  than  any  other.  Confining  all  the 
promises  to  the  children  of  Abraham,  they  cannot 
give  foreigners  a  share  therein.  Moreover,  the  Jews 
live  in  the  hope  of  the  most  incommunicable  of  all 
blessings  ;  that,  namely,  of  seeing  the  Redeemer  born 
among  them, — fruit  of  the  womb  of  a  daughter 
of  David.  Here  all  is  fixed  and  unalterable,  and  has 
received  the  sanction  of  God  himself.  Prophecy  is 
clear.  Even  if  they  wished  to  attract  strangers  to 
their  faith,  they  could  not  impart  the  unrivalled  glory 
promised  them  from  the  beginning  of  time.  Here, 
truly,  is  exclusion,  actual  and  authorized ;  actual 
through  the  very  genius  of  the  people,  authorized  by 
the  promise  that  Christ  should  be  born  of  the  line  of 
David. 

But,  if  this  epithet,  exclusive,  is  eminently  suited 
to  the  Hebrew  faith,  what  applicability  can  it  have  to 
that  religion  which  is,  of  all  others,  most  opposed  to 
its  spirit?  Opposed,  not  in  the  sense  of  hostility,  but 
of  contrast ;  opposed  by  the  very  spread  of  the  truth, 
by  the  immense  distance  it  has  traversed,  differing 
from  it,  in  short,  as  the  oak  differs  from  the  acorn. 


86  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Look  at  the  very  words,  — an  exclusive  and  uni- 
versal religion  ;  what  an  absurdity  !  Exclusive  and 
proselyting !  and  so  pre-eminently  proselyting  that 
the  word,  in  its  present  sense,  has  been  fully  compre- 
hended and  applied  by  the  Catholic  Church  alone ! 
Exclusive  !  while  she  calls  Greek  and  Scythian,  Bar- 
barian, Jew,  and  Mahometan;  nor  calls  them  only, 
but  goes  to  them,  opening  her  arms  to  all,  ready  to 
clasp  and  press  them  to  her  maternal  breast. 


ON  THE  CHURCH  AND  HEE  FOEM. 


"  Jerusalem  quae  aediflcatur  ut  civitas  ;  cujus  participatio  ejus 
in  ipsidum.  Illuc  enim  ascenderunt  tribus,  tribus  Domini,  testimo- 
nium  Israel  ad  confitendum  nomini  Domini."  —  Ps.  cxxii.  3,  4. 


,  in  its  general  and  absolute  sense,  is  never 
arbitrary.  It  is  the  strictest  expression  of  the 
idea,  its  first  and  last  answer;  the  characteristic  of  its 
substance  ;  its  utterance,  also,  in  the  sense  of  its  man- 
ifestation. Determined  in  the  realm  of  nature,  by  the 
quality  and  power  of  the  internal  principle,  we  be- 
hold the  form  ever  faithful  to  the  idea,  as  well  in  the 
intelligent  as  in  the  merely  animate  creation  ;  both  in 
the  vegetable  organism  and  in  the  mineral  kingdom. 
Everywhere  a  primitive  type  ;  everywhere  the  crea- 
ture rising  in  the  scale  of  being  in  proportion  as  its 
form  is  more  complete. 

In  painting  and  sculpture,  whenever  an  artist 
would  realize  an  idea,  is  he  not  bound  to  use  every 
possible  effort  to  preserve  its  peculiar  character  and 
give  us  a  living  manifestation  of  the  thought  ?  When 
marble  and  canvas  glow  under  the  might  of  an  idea, 
what  do  they  but  materialize  it  ?  and  is  not  the  artist, 
though  a  free  agent,  constrained  to  bring  it  to  our 


88  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

notice,  to  render  it  appreciable  to  our  senses,  to  iden- 
tify himself  with  it?  Even  in  architecture,  the  most 
materialistic  of  the  arts,  is  there  not  a  necessary  corre- 
spondence between  the  plan  of  the  building  and  the 
use  to  be  made  of  it ;  between  the  original  design 
and  the  richness  and  variety  of  the  material  ?  Does 
not  lyric  poetry  impress  its  own  movement,  accent, 
and  rhythm  on  the  music  which  accompanies  it?  and, 
in  the  drama,  is  not  the  music,  which  is  the  form, 
brought  into  almost  servile  subjection  to  the  words? 
and  are  not  the  different  human  emotions  always  ex- 
pressed in  tones  that  are  sad  or  sweet,  solemn  or  joy- 
ous, as  the  case  may  be? 

And,  in  purely  speculative  work,  where  thought 
confines  its  activity  to  its  own  peculiar  sphere,  is  not 
the  character  of  the  expression  regulated  by  that 
thought ;  and  is  not  the  merit  of  any  creation  deter- 
mined primarily  by  the  close  and  exact  correspond- 
ence between  the  idea  and  its  incarnation?  The 
original  choice,  that  of  the  idea,  is  entirely  free  ;  but, 
that  choice  once  made,  the  elements  which  co-operate 
in  its  execution  are,  for  the  most  part,  given.  The 
idea  carries  them,  so  to  speak,  within  itself,  and  re- 
quires, in  the  expression,  a  true  and  faithful  adherence 
to  its  nature. 

If,  then,  it  holds  true  in  the  arena  of  visible  things, 
that  persistent  laws  and  unvarying  conditions  govern 
the  realization  and  vivification  of  any  thought  or  feel- 
ing, why  may  we  not  transfer  these  principles  to  the 


ON  THE  CHURCH  AND  HER  FORM.       89 

realm  of  religion,  and  conclude  that  there  must  be  a 
fixed,  unchangeable,  absolute  form,  appertaining  to 
a  system  of  ideas  unique,  homogeneous,  perfectly  co- 
herent, and  without  analogue  upon  earth?  a  system 
able  to  impose  its  authority  upon  the  intellect,  to 
conquer,  to  contend,  to  endure  through  ages  ;  to  en- 
dure,—  nay,  more,  — ^ to  make  war  and  to  subdue.  And 
if  this  order  of  ideas  is  God's  revelation,  can  we  suppose 
that  the  divine  thought  —  while  offering  itself  for  the 
light,  the  guidance,  and  the  support  of  humanity  — 
would  carelessly  have  abandoned  to  the  caprice,  the 
vain  discussions,  the  fantastic  choice,  and  the  incessant 
unrest  of  that  same  humanity,  the  form  whereby 
truth  was  to  make  herself  known  and  impose  upon 
the  world  her  all-penetrating  and  all-embracing 
authority?  By  so  doing,  Providence  would  have 
accomplished  but  half  his  work ;  for,  in  lieu  of  dow- 
ering it  with  the  conditions  of  durability,  as  he  has 
done  with  his  other  works,  he  would  thus  have  aban- 
doned the  loftiest  and  most  necessary  of  them  all  to 
chance  and  the  uncertainty  of  foreign  aid.  He 
would,  indeed,  have  given  man  all,  —  and  at  what  a 
price?  —  but  so  given  that  man  must  lose  the  fruit 
thereof.  These  same  verities  —  if  subjected  to  the 
fickleness  and  extravagance  of  the  individual  mind, 
without  the  defence  of  a  sacred  form,  precise  laws, 
and  that  aureole  which  marks  and  crowns  the  centre 
of  power  —  could  not  have  failed  to  become  ob- 
scured, separated,  and  lost. 


90  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

In  an  institution  destined  to  last  till  the  ages  are 
consummated,  all  should  be  arranged  with  a  view  to 
unlimited  self-support  and  self-defence.  Even  those 
who  see  in  Christianity  only  a  human  invention, 
acknowledge  that  the  strength  of  the  church  system, 
its  internal  administration,  and  the  skill  with  which 
all  the  channels  have  been  prepared  through  which 
its  life  circulates,  explain,  in  part,  its  power  of  resist- 
ance. Those,  on  the  other  hand,  who  look  at  this 
wonderful  institution  from  God's  side,  merely  put 
divine  wisdom  in  the  place  of  human  ingenuity,  and 
see  that,  here  as  elsewhere,  Providence  has  provided 
that  the  means  should  be  adapted  to  the  end. 

In  this  choice  and  arrangement  of  constituent 
elements,  what  was  involved?  All  Christianity. 
What  would  have  become  of  its  dogmas,  without 
indefectibility  to  recognize  them,  unity  to  combine, 
and  authority  to  insure  them  reverence?  Only  the 
Coenaculum  could  be  the  continuation  of  Calvary. 

I  cannot  forget,  in  this  connection,  an  avowal  wrung 
from  one  of  the  most  powerful  intellects  I  ever 
met,  —  a  man  who,  born  a  Protestant,  had  become 
a  Pantheist,  and  was  wasting  in  the  service  of  that 
system  all  the  treasures  of  a  rich  and  fertile  imagi- 
nation. This  man,  as  commonly  happens,  rejected  or 
distorted  every  aspect  of  Christianity ;  but  he  hated 
only  Catholicism,  one  of  whose  glories  it  has  ever 
been  to  receive  the  homage  of  hatred  in  default  of 
that  of  love.  In  the  midst  of  a  long  discussion, 


ON  THE  CHURCH  AND  HER  FORM.       91 

during  which  all  the  prejudices  of  his  old  error  had 
cropped  out  from  beneath  the  more  recent  stratum 
of  his  Pantheism,  I  arrested  him  with  the  question, 
whether  he  honestly  believed  that  if  the  Catholic 
form  had  not  existed  in  the  world  there  would  have 
remained  of  Christianity,  after  eighteen  centuries  of 
conflict,  any  thing  more  than  a  system  of  morals, 
-  like  Stoicism.  After  a  few  moments  of  silence, 
during  which  the  face  of  my  interlocutor  assumed 
an  expression  which  I  seejjven  now,  he  answered, 
"  No  :  Christianity  could  not  have  lasted  as  a  reli- 
gion. It  would  have  kept  its  place  simply  as  a 
system  of  philosophic  morality."  Durability  is  the 
surest  sign  of  strength, — its  characteristic  and  its 
gage ;  and  both  strength  and  durability  have  their 
full  development  only  in  unity.  Unity  and  per- 
petuity are  nearly  synonymous.  "If  man  were  one," 
said  Hippocrates,  tr  he  would  not  die."  The  Church 
is  one  ;  and  she  will  survive  the  earth.  And  what 
a  magnificent  thing  is  unity  in  plurality,  —  collect- 
ive unity, — unity  which  does  not  preclude  univer- 
sality !  Neither  on  the  sword,  nor  on  coercive  force, 
does  that  union  depend  which  is,  in  the  language  of  a 
celebrated  author,  "  exalted  even  to  unity."  All  is 
free  in  the  kingdom  of  mind,  and  obedience  and  love 
are  one. 


ON  OLD   AGE. 


COMPILER'S    DEDICATION. 

To  COUNT  PAUL  RESSEGUIER,  WITH  THE  GRATEFUL  ACKNOWLEDG- 
MENTS OF  A.  DE  FALLOUX. 


I. 

•to 

thoughts  turn  frequently  to  old  age.  Dif- 
ferent  moralists  have  made  it  the  object  of 
more  or  less  protracted  and  elaborate  reflection,  but 
scarcely  one  has  failed  to  touch  upon  it,  and  several 
have  consecrated  entire  treatises  to  the  subject.  In- 
duced, less  by  my  growing  years  than  by  the  feeling 
of  gratitude  that  grows  with  them,  to  meditate  upon 
old  age,  I  find  myself  but  seldom  treading  in  the 
footsteps  of  others ;  and  my  wish  is,  to  study  this 
period  of  life  in  its  connection  with  God  and  the  life 
to  come ;  to  show  that  age  is  full  of  grandeur  and 
consolation ;  that  its  activity  is  all  the  more  intense 
for  being  brought  to  a  focus ;  that  no  other  situation 
can  compare  in  dignity  and  beauty  with  this,  in 
which  the  life  of  the  soul  is  all ;  and  that,  in  short, 
if  the  old  man  —  as  they  say  of  the  priest  —  is  the 
unhappiest  of  men,  he  is  the  happiest  of  Christians, 
best  prepared  for  the  future,  and,  if  he  will,  best  com- 
forted in  the  present. 


ON   OLD   AGE.  93 

Cicero  amused  his  old  age  by  making  it  a  study ; 
and  this  labor  rendered  the  season  smooth  and  pleas- 
ant to  him.  We  are  more  fortunate  than  Cicero. 
With  the  eyes  of  Jesus  Christ  upon  us,  we  feel  that 
the  sun  has  not  wholly  withdrawn  his  brightening, 
cheering,  warming  rays  from  the  evening  of  our  life. 

Every  age  has  its  characteristic  quality.  Docility 
is  that  of  childhood,  whose  whole  moral  code,  like 
that  of  the  world  in  its  infancy,  is  comprehended  in 
the  precept  of  obedience.  Youth  is  distinguished  by 
self-devotion,  maturity  by  strength,  old  age  by 
dignity.  Here  are  the  full  statistics  of  human  life. 
Thou  hast  not,  O  my  God,  disinherited  any  age. 
Thou  art  lord  of  the  day  and  the  night.  THUS  est 
dies  et  tua  est  nox. 

At  the  first  glance,  childhood,  youth,  and  middle 
life  seem  to  have  all  sorts  of  advantages  over  old 
age ;  but,  like  the  phantasmagoria  of  wealth  and 
rank,  these  disappear  on  a  nearer  view.  Childhood 
of  course  has  the  advantage  in  time ;  but  it  knows 
not  what  precious  germs  it  bears  within,  what 
blessings  are  by  it  attainable.  It  is  not  in  the  secret 
of  its  own  advantages,  and  has  no  realization  of  its 
own  blessedness.  It  understands  not  the  why  and 
wherefore  of  its  enforced  actions,  knows  nothing  of 
ends,  or  of  means  in  their  relation  to  ends.  It  sub- 
mits to  reason  as  to  force.  Its  joys  are  keen  ;  but  so 
are  its  sorrows.  It  is  gay  and  free  from  care ;  but 
it  is  never  happy. 


94  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

The  old  man  knows;  and  it  is  a  great  thing  to 
know  !  And  to  have  seen,  through  a  long  life,  God 
always  right ;  to  be  able  to  declare  one's  self  perfectly 
"content1  with  him,"  and  to  admire  the  universal 
justification  of  his  law  ;  to  have  measured  the  nothing- 
ness of  what  we  are  leaving,  weighed  our  own  dust, 
and  had  a  sure  glimpse  of  the  good  that  awaits  us,  — 
is  not  this  also  something? 

n. 

The  old  man  is  the  pontiff  of  the  past ;  nor  does 
this  prevent  him  from  being  the  seer  of  the  future. 
The  clergyman  represents  the  priesthood  of  eternity ; 
the  old  man  that  of  time.  In  him,  experience  de- 
livers oracles  and  prophecies  ;  and  repeatedly,  in  those 
imperfect  states  of  society  where  the  offices  of  priest 
and  magistrate  are  combined,  it  has  rested  with  the 
ancients  of  the  people  to  maintain  and  perpetuate 
the  beneficent  and  saving  conceptions  of  right  and 
of  eternity. 

The  aged  are  Christ's  poor :  their  wrinkles  are 
their  rags  ;  they  warm  themselves  in  the  sunbeams ; 
they  beg  their  daily  bread. 

The  gods  ordained  the  blindness  of  Tiresias,  that 
he  might  live  more  with  themselves  than  with  men. 
Old  age  is  a  species  of  blindness  with  reference  to 
the  outward  world.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  eye 

1  Bourdaloue. 


ON    OLD    AGE.  95 

grew  dim  and  the  ear  less  sensitive  to  earthly  sounds, 
that  the  contemplation  might  be  more  profound  and 
the  attention  .more  fully  given  to  the  voice  within. 
God  succeeds  to  all  the  relinquished  desires  and  sup- 
pressed transports  of  the  old,  and  opens  to  them  more 
and  more  of  the  interior  life. 

The  silence  which  pervades  the  being  renders  the 
slightest  sound  audible.  The  eye  is  quick  and  prac- 
tised ;  for  experience  is  a  second  sight,  showing  what 
shall  be  in  what  has  been. 

The  old  man  is  like  a  sentinel  on  the  outpost  of 
life.  Sleep  flies  his  eyelids.  The  watch  he  keeps  is 
solemn  as  a  knight's  vigil. 

With  singular  goodness,  God  has  rendered  a  dis- 
position to  sleeplessness  nearly  universal  with  the 
old.  Life  is  worth  more  than  sleep.  God  would 
fain  multiply  the  attainments  of  the  aged ;  and,  since 
time  presses,  He  gives  them  an  increasing  share  in 
that  watchfulness  which  the  Scripture  places  between 
prayer  and  alms.  "Watch  and  pray,"  saith  our 
Lord.  This  means  of  sanctification  is  easy  to  the 
old,  but  little  suited  to  the  young. 

"  Youth  is  the  loveliest  flower  on  earth,"  says  an 
old  Breton  song.1  Old  age,  let  me  add,  is  the  most 
savory  fruit. 

The  ripe  fruit  is  sweeter  than  the  green. 


1  See  the  "  Chants  Populaires  de  la  Bretagne,"  translated  by 
Count  de  la  Villemarque,  of  the  Institute.     Vol.  ii.    p.  391. 


96  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Misfortune  discovers  to  youth  the  nothingness  of 
life ;  it  reveals  to  age  the  happiness  of  heaven. 

The  coldest  Christians  consecrate  the  morning  and 
the  evening  to  God.  So  infancy  and  old  age  are 
especially  under  his  patronage. 

The  old  man,  like  the  husbandman  of  St.  James, 
"waiteth  for  the  precious  fruit  of  the  earth,  and  hath 
patience  for  it,  till  he  receive  the  early  and  the  latter 
rain." 

Thus,  like  the  cross  of  Calvary,  the  old  man  is 
midway  between  heaven  and  earth,  —  held  to  the 
one  by  his  duties,  to  the  other  by  his  hopes.  He 
believes ;  because  he  has  proved  all  things,  and  only 
the  truth  of  the  gospel  has  remained  at  the  bottom 
of  the  crucible. 

Old  age  is  life  on  its  holy  Saturday,  —  the  eve 
of  the  glorious  resurrection,  —  the  morrow  of  all 
the  distractions  of  earth  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
cross. 

The  God  of  eternity,  who  comprehends  all  times 
in  one,  seems  to  have  willed  that  the  three  grand 
divisions  of  time  should  exist  and  be  represented 
simultaneously  in  creation.  Age  is  the  past,  infancy 
the  future,  youth  the  present.  Experience  —  a  vir- 
tue drawn  from  the  past  —  has  to  clarify  youth's 
force  of  conception  and  vigor  of  action. 

Old  age,  with  its  wisdom,  is  to  the  peremptory 
and  positive  notions  of  youth  what  tradition  is  to 
written  doctrine. 


ON    OLD   AGE.  97 

Age  no  longer  moulds  the  bronze  or  "rough- 
hews"  the  marble;  but  it  perfects,  it  finishes,  it 
does  that  patient  and  assiduous  work,  which,  through 
life,  is  the  justification  of  God's  law.  An  aged  and 
illustrious  savant  once  said :  "  The  more  I  study, 
and  the  more  I  observe,  the  less  I  can  explain," 
a  remark  full  of  philosophy  in  the  mouth  of  a  philos- 
opher, but  incomprehensible  in  that  of  a  Christian. 
Each  day,  the  Christian  comprehends  better  the  des- 
tiny which  God  has  appointed  him,  and  the  reason 
of  the  weights  with  which  he  has  charged  it. 

in. 

By  reason  of  sin,  old  age  is  the  twilight  of  death, 
but  God  can  extract  from  all  the  elements  of  our 
fallen  nature  harmonies  full  of  beauty.  He  employs 
the  old,  —  the  ancients,  —  to  bear  witness  to  his  past 
mercies,  among  the  rising  generations. 

Old  age  is  not  one  of  the  beauties  of  creation,  but 
it  is  one  of  its  harmonies.  The  law  of  contrasts  is 
one  of  the  laws  of  beauty.  Under  the  conditions  of 
our  climate,  shadow  gives  light  its  worth ;  sternness 
enhances  mildness ;  solemnity,  splendor.  Varying 
proportions  of  size  support  and  subserve  one  another. 
Different  flavors  give  zest  to  one  another.  Nothing 
could  vanish  from  the  earth  without  leaving  a  void. 
Hierarchy  —  even  in  age  —  is  one  of  God's  beauti- 
ful and  harmonious  thoughts,  and  he  loses  no  oppor- 
tunity of  illustrating  it  in  his  works. 

5 


93  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

God  deigns  to  provide  by  his  care  for  all  that  has 
served  himself  or  his  purposes.  This  old  age  — 
though  one  of  the  effects  of  the  fell  —  is  far  from 
expressing  punishment  alone ;  and  the  most  diverse 
of  evils  have  their  compensations.  Side  by  side  with 
infirmities  and  privations,  we  have  fewer  occasions 
of  strife,  deep  and  strong  consolations,  secrets  of 
infinite  tenderness,  and  a  thousand  revelations  from 
the  Husband1  of  our  souls,  which  have  rendered  for 
many  a  one  the  end  of  life  far  sweeter  th'an  its 
beginning. 

Nothing  gives  rise  to  so  many  contradictions  in  the 
human  mind  as  old  age.  It  is  a  phantom  in  which 
youth  has  no  faith ;  a  scarecrow  to  virile  complacen- 
cy. Yet  no  sooner  have  we  attained  the  apogee  of 
life,  —  no  sooner  have  we  taken  our  first  downward 
step  upon  the  opposite  slope,  than  we  cease,  at 
heart,  to  dread  old  age,  but  anticipate  it,  all  of  us, 
and  make  the  best  terms  possible  with  its  inconven- 
iences. 

In  the  pride  of  its  strength,  youth  claims  long  life 
as  a  right,  and  rejects  the  idea  of  growing  old. 
Strange  to  say,  it  is  not  horror  that  old  age  excites  : 
it  is  contempt.  Does  the  feeling  attach  to  old  age 
itself,  or  to  the  manner  of  growing  old  ?  "  In  our 
day,"  said  M.  de  Chateaubriand,  "  people  are  old, 
but  they  are  no  longer  venerable."  This  remark, 

i  "Thy  Maker  is  thy  husband/' — ISAIAH  Ixiv.  5. 


ON    OLD    AGE.  99 

perhaps,  contains  the  whole  secret  of  the  slight  re- 
spect of  youth  for  age. 

When  I  say  that  youth  does  not  believe  in  age  for 
itself,  I  have  no  fear  of  exaggerating.  Positively, 
its  treats  the  idea  as  a  superstition,  and  passes  it  by 
with  disdain  ;  does  it  not  even  the  honor  of  treating 
it  as  a  necessary  evil,  and  accepting  it  as  it  accepts 
death.  It  promises  itself  some  escape,  and  glories 
in  being  unwilling  to  prolong  life  at  the  price  of  so 
much  ignominy.  But  this  does  not  last  long.  Time 
slips  away,  the  attention  is  given  to  other  things, 
youth  loses  itself  in  mature  life,  and  soon  gray  hairs 
are  announcing  the  approach  of  the  great  hoar-frost. 
And  now  we  no  longer  think  of  old  age  as  a  thing 
to  be  shunned,  but  begin,  by  way  of  neutralizing  its 
severity,  to  parley  with  it,  to  question  it ;  even  ad- 
mitting that,  after  all,  there  may  be  some  advantage 
to  be  derived  therefrom.  We  devour  our  years  some- 
what as  a  schoolboy  does  the  cherries  in  his  basket, 
—  taking  first  the  finest,  then  the  good,  then  the  tol- 
erable, and  finally  enjoying  those  which  we  at  first 
refused. 

Why  should  not  old  age  be  the  ninth  book  of  the 
sibyl,  for  which  we  pay  the  price  of  the  nine,  and 
which  is  worth  them  all  ? 

Time  is  the  shower  of  Danae.  Each  drop  is 
golden. 

Youth  lives  in  abundance  with  respect  to  time  ;  but 
what  is  wealth  whose  value  we  do  not  know,  and 


100  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

which  we  lavish  without  forethought  and  without  re- 
gret? Old  age  teaches  the  value  of  time,  and  ap- 
prises us  that  our  most  precious  treasure  is  its  raw 
material.  The  man  who  avails  most  is  he  who  best 
employs  his  time ;  the  wisest,  he  who  turns  it  to  the 
greatest  advantage.  Time  is  the  representative  of 
all  moral,  intellectual,  and  even  spiritual  worth.  The 
wealthiest  man  is  he  whose  wide  horizon  is  bounded 
by  God.  It  is  the  old  man,  above  all,  who  can  say 
with  Young,  in  his  admirable  verse,  "  Time  is  eter- 
nity, —  pregnant  with  all  eternity  can  give." 

Knowing  the  value  of  time,  we  aspire  to  save  and 
employ  it.  In  our  eagerness  to  improve  the  mo- 
ments, the  soul  outstrips  the  organs,  and  we  are  like 
that  Ariadne  of  Dannecker,1  who  plainly  moves 
faster  than  the  panther  that  bears  her.  On  the  one 
hand,  her  desire  springs  to  the  pursuit  of  Theseus ; 
on  the  other,  she  must  needs  submit  to  the  pace  of 
the  beast  she  rides,  her  only  means  of  rapid  locomo- 
tion. It  is  a  fine  image  of  old  age,  — of  the  ardent 
soul  which  hurries  onward,  straining  for  the  goal,  but 
which,  being  dependent  on  matter  for  the  means  of 
progress  here  below,  is  hindered  by  those  very  means. 
How  should  it  not  travel  faster  than  the  poor  body, 
—  a  panting  panther  shorn  of  its  strength  and  agil- 
ity? It  is  the  heart  that  supplies  swiftness.  Old 

1  The  masterpiece  of  the  sculptor  Dannecker,  in  the  gallery  of 
M.  Bethmann,  at  Frankfort. 


ON    OLD   AGE.  101 

age  is  seen  to  be  great  at  heart,  despite  all  its  signs 
of  weakness. 

IV. 

As  far  as  the  natural  man  is  concerned,  youth  has 
the  advantage  in  every  respect ;  even  in  moral  quali- 
ties. Thus,  generosity,  self-devotion,  noble  and 
disinterested  sentiments,  belong  eminently  to  youth. 
If  the  love  of  God  does  not  keep  the  heart  warm, 
the  action  of  time  and  contact  with  men  tend  only 
too  surely  to  relax  and  chill  its  generous  transports. 
Youth  is  a  sort  of  temporary  divinity  ;  impressing  on 
its  creatures  brilliant  virtues,  that  last  during  its  own 
stay.  For  the  mind  and  the  character,  there  is  a 
beaute  du  (liable,  —  a  charm  of  freshness,  sponta- 
neity, and  bloom,  which  supplies  the  place  of  regular 
beauty  and  solid  qualities.  With  the  spiritual  man 
it  is  not  so.  He  is  born  later,  and  under  harder  con- 
ditions, which  ordain  that  he  shall  be  helped  by  his 
very  hindrances.  While  youth  is  but  a  vehicle  for  the 
natural  man,  age  profits  by  every  trial.  The  same 
force  is  differently  directed.  That  which,  when 
young,  we  did  for  ourselves,  when  old  we  do  for 
God.  Then,  all  is  purified  and  nothing  weakened. 
It  is  the  same  flame ;  but  subtler,  more  vivid,  be- 
cause nourished  by  rarer  elements. 

For  the  natural  man,  I  must  repeat,  youth  is*  the 
best,  perhaps  the  only  good,  time.  Its  absence  of 
calculation,  the  fulness  and  spontaneousness  of  its 
good  actions,  its  easier  forgiven  faults,  lift  it  above 


102  WRITINGS   OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

that  age  which  abstains  from  certain  vices,  indeed, 
but  shrinks  from  many  a  good  work.  Nature,  then, 
has  done  every  thing  for  youth ;  but  religion  is  dia- 
metrically opposed  to  nature,  and,  by  its  divine  coun- 
terpoises, more  than  restores  the  equilibrium  between 
the  seasons  of  life.  And  so,  for  the  freshness,  the 
grace,  the  splendor  of  natural  qualities,  it  substitutes 
the  massiveness,  the  height,  the  worth  of  virtues ; 
like  the  drop  of  wax,  which,  as  it  condenses,  gains  in 
solidity  what  it  loses  in  brightness.  The  ship  of 
youth  crowds  sail ;  but,  if  the  wind  forsakes  it,  the 
canvas  hangs  motionless,  awaiting  a  friendly  breath; 
and  too  often  illusions  are  summoned  to  its  aid : 
while  the  old  man  never  ceases,  though  tired,  to 
wield  the  oar  and  guide  the  helm. 

The  poor  ship  of  age  is  battered.  Once  it  strove 
with  a  storm  of  flowers,  but  now  with  a  storm  of 
snow.  Its  keel  has  grazed  so  often  !  Its  sails  are 
torn.  Its  helm  only  still  resists  the  waves. 

v. 

If  truth  is  all-important ;  if  reality  has  its  resources 
as  well  as  its  sorrows,  and  a  strength  that  compen- 
sates for  lost  illusions,  — then  advanced  age  is  superior 
to  the  epoch  of  falsehood  and  optical  delusions.  It 
is  less  exacting  with  regard  to  life ;  for  it  takes  it  at 
a  lower  rate,  and  so  is  more  apt  to  be  satisfied. 
"  Happiness  is  something  which  we  attain  most  easily 
when  we  have  renounced  it,"  says  Mme.  de  Stael. 


ON    OLD    AGE.  103 

In  such  a  mood  as  this,  old  age  generally  finds  us. 
Suffer  as  we  may,  from  the  loss  of  illusions,  I  am 
unable  to  comprehend  how  he  who  is  honored  by 
the  possession  of  truth  can  ever  regret  them. 

Old  age  is  the  last  word  of  truth  on  this  earth,  — 
the  realization  of  all  which  is  revealed  to  us  concern- 
ing the  nothingness  of  its  prosperities,  and  of  all 
which  is  not  connected,  nearly  or  remotely,  with  the 
eternal  promises.  It  declares  the  wisdom  of  the  di- 
vine teachings,  and  that  God  alone  is  all.  Old  age 
is  truly  the  period  of  the  grand  council,  the  mere 
sight  of  which  pleads  and  invites  to  the  right  way. 

-vi. 

Christianity  apart,  I  admit  that  the  old  man  — 

uDe  son  age  a  tout  le  malheur." 

But  why  consider  any  season  of  life  without  reference 
to  the  thought  that  embraces  them  all?  God  has 
willed  that  we  should  find  many  things  established  by 
himself;  but,  when  we  depart  from  his  order,  on  what 
recompense  or  indemnification  can  we  rely?  What 
right  could  we  offset  against  the  indefeasible  right  we 
disregard  ? 

Christianity  came  into  the  world  to  aid  weakness 
of  every  kind.  It  has  taught  us  to  respect  childhood, 
which  it  called  to  its  embrace.  Hitherto,  woman  had 
been  but  the  slave  of  man.  Christianity  made  her 
his  companion,  and,  as  a  crowning  grace,  placed  her 
under  the  sheltering  care  of  him  to  whose  rank  she 


104  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

was  raised.  Old  age  is  despoiled  by  nature  and  the 
world  alike.  Antiquity  merely  amused  it  with  out- 
ward marks  of  respect.  Its  wisdom  and  experience 
were  consulted,  but  its  individual  life  was  over,  its 
future  destroyed,  its  gaze  fixed  on  the  past,  its  sole 
possession  the  blessings  that  were  slipping  from  its 
grasp.  Christianity  has  done  more  for  old  age  than 
for  any  other  period  of  life  ;  for  it  shows  how  to  face 
an  inglorious  death  without  shrinking.  Not  merely 
has  courage  in  view  of  death  no  glory  for  the  old 
man,  who  seems  to  be  forsaken  by  life  rather  than  to 
quit  it ;  but  virtue  in  him  seems  so  entirely  the  neces- 
sary fruit  of  experience  and  satiety,  that  there  ap- 
pears to  be  no  merit  in  its  practice.  Nevertheless, 
this  season  has  its  special  and  often  inextricable  diffi- 
culties. God  sees  the  worth  which  is  encouraged  by 
no  human  approbation,  and  the  All- seeing  Eye 
watches  the  old  man  as  closely  as  the  young. 

All  conditions  and  all  ages  have  been  studied  from 
the  Christian  point  of  view  ;  except,  perhaps,  old  age. 
And  let  no  one  offer,  as  an  excuse,  that  it  is  a  stran- 
ger to  the  affections  that  vivify  life,  and  has  lost  its 
warmth  and  its  sap.  Truly,  it  breathes  an  air  less 
bright  and  burning  than  of  yore :  its  thermometer  is 
placed  in  the  shade,  but  its  warmth  is  that  of  the  at- 
mosphere at  large,  not  that  of  the  sun  blazing  down 
on  a  single  point. 

Christianity  has  been  applied  as  a  palliative  to  all 
ills  ;  but  there  is  one  on  which  its  transforming  power 


ON    OLD    AGE.  105 

has  very  seldom  been  tried ;  and  that  is  old  age. 
Alms-houses  have  been  built  for  the  old,  and  pains 
taken  to  provide  them  shelter  and  lodging  ;  but  some 
effort  is  also  needed  to  reconcile  them  to  their  condi- 
tion, and  reveal  to  them  its  resources. 

Would  God  have  left  without  consolation  precisely 
the  last  stage  of  the  journey  we  are  making  to  his 
home?  God  prolongs  our  life,  and  fills  it  with  bit- 
terness. What  ground  of  perfect  trust  is  here ! 
Only  that  which  is  to  be  used  is  purified ;  only  the 
iron  which  is  to  be  wrought  is  beaten ;  only  the 
wound  which  we  would  heal  is  probed. 

Life  grows  darker  as  we  go  on,  till  only  one  pure 
light  is  left  shining  on  it ;  and  that  is  faith.  Old  age, 
like  solitude  and  sorrow,  has  its  revelations. 

There  is  a  Scripture  word  which  saith,  "Quand  tu 
auras  fini,  tu  commenceras."  Toward  the  close  of 
our  career,  many  an  idea  and  word  of  wisdom,  which 
previously  had  been  but  an  empty  sound,  receives  a 
soul,  and  is  informed  with  unguessed  life.  How  beau- 
tiful and  grand  a  thing  it  is,  to  grow  old  under  the 
eyes  of  God  !  The  reason  why  wre  fear  old  age  so 
much,  is  because  we  separate  it  from  him.  Mine  has 
outlived  its  dreams  ;  but,  if  it  had  them  still,  rest 
would  be  the  least  seductive  of  them  all.  Peace? 
Yes  ;  but  not  rest.  There  is  none  in  this  world  ;  nor 
should  there  be.  In  Armand's  last  illness,  some  one 
urged  him  to  rest.  "  Rest !  "  replied  the  poor  dying 
creature  ;  "  I  shall  have  all  eternity  for  that." 

5* 


106  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Of  course,  our  activity  changes  its  nature,  and  its 
sphere  is  circumscribed.  The  decline  of  our  bodily 
strength  necessarily  retards  our  steps  ;  but  it  draws 
its  principle  from  the  soul  and  its  instincts,  and  its 
aims  remain  unchanged.  The  notes  are  the  same, 
only  struck  a  few  octaves  lower.  But  I  understand 
well  —  and  better  and  better  each  day  —  that  a 
struggle  is  inaugurated  between  the  persistent  will 
and  the  failing  vitality ;  and  I  must  confess  that, 
of  all  the  vagaries  of  the  Roman  emperors,  the  most 
comprehensible  to  me  is  that  of  the  emperor  who  de- 
termined to  die  standing. 

VII. 

It  is  evident  that  the  epoch  of  life  into  which  are 
crowded  the  greatest  number  of  trials  is  old  age. 
The  universal  feeling  proves  it.  "People  are  no 
longer  happy  at  our  age,"  said  Louis  XIV.  to  Mar- 
shal Villeroy.  After  the  raising  of  the  siege  of 
Metz,  the  same  thought  was  expressed  by  Charles  V.  ; 
and  it  was  he,  too,  who  made  that  remark,  as  bril- 
liant as  it  was  profound  :  "  Fortune  loves  only  the 
young." 

Yet,  dull  as  they  are,  the  days  of  advanced  life  are 
precious.  Whether  we  consider  them  as  days  of 
expiation,  or  days  of  grace,  their  place  is  among  the 
most  spiritual  of  God's  providences.  Just  as,  in 
those  unlooked-for  events  which  are  generally  at- 
tributed to  chance,  we  see  God's  hand  all  the  plainer 


ON    OLD   AGE.  107 

for  being  less  sensible  of  human  action",  —  so  these 
divinely  prolonged  years  are  more  necessary  the  more 
useless  they  appear.  It  is  the  hour  in  which  the 
chrysalis  awakes.  The  new  life  it  is  to  assume 
within  leaves  the  outside  barer  than  ever  of  beauty 
and  of  life. 

Yes,  save  in  the  exceptional  cases  of  a  few  pre- 
destined individuals,  old  age  is  a  blessing ;  for, 
who  would  dare  say  with  Tobit,  "It  is  profitable 
for  me  to  die,  rather  than  to  live"?  Each  day  ac- 
corded to  the  old  man  is,  not  a  reprieve,  —  a  delay 
sterile  if  not  agonizing,  —  but  a  useful  season  in 
which  he  may  modify  or  atone  for  the  sins  of  the 
past,  diminish,  and  perhaps  liquidate,  his  debt,  move 
and  soften  his  judge,  and  convert  his  sentence  into 
an  acquittal. 

And  what  a  benediction  is  a  Christian  old  age  ! 
How  many  developments  it  presents,  unattainable 
either  by  youth  or  by  maturity  !  This  halt  at  the 
journey's  end  permits  the  traveller  to  wipe  the  sweat 
from  his  brow,  and  to  shake  off  the  dust  that  soils 
him,  before  entering  his  Father's  festal  hall.  "Up- 
borne by  supernatural  power,  he  quits  the  last 
summits  he  had  climbed.  His  look  has  been  up- 
ward ;  and  he  sees,  face  to  face.  •  He  aspired  to 
reunion  ;  and  reunion  is  effected."  l  He  despises  not 

1  Du  Mariage  au  Point  de  Vue  Chretien.  Bj  Mme.  de  Gasparin. 
Vol.  iii.  p.  178. 


108  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

the  world  nor  the  goods  that  he  abandons ;  but 
he  sees  them  from  another  hemisphere,  and  their 
proportions  are  changed. 

All  is  sad  for  the  old  man ;  but  may  we  not  dis- 
cover, in  this  very  absence  of  sweet  and  pleasing 
impressions,  the  hidden  sense,  — the  key  to  the  rid- 
dle, —  the  meaning  of  the  moment  of  life  the  sphinx 
allows  us? 

"  II  n'a  plus  en  mourant  a  perdre  que  la  vie." 

He  who  penned  this  verse  hardly  suspected  to  what 
order  of  truth  its  melancholy  beauty  belongs.  Sad 
state  indeed  from  the  human  point  of  view,  for  him 
who,  living  on  external  goods  alone,  outlives  himself 
necessarily  if  these  are  taken  away.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  do  we  not  really  take  possession  of  the  best 
part  of  ourselves  when  all  those  things  which  crushed 
and  weighed  us  down  have  successively  disappeared? 
Is  there  no  dignity  in  the  renunciation  —  profoundly 
submissive,  if  not  voluntary  —  of  all  which  flattered 
cupidity  or  ambition, — in  the  celestial  peace  which 
consoles  us  a  thousand-fold  for  the  loss  of  happiness, 
which  plants  the  smile  upon  our  lips,  and  removes 
the  lightest  cloud  from  the  brow  ?  No  :  life  has  not 
conquered  the  old  man  :  it  is  he  who  rises  superior 
to  life. 

VIII. 

From  a  worldly  point  of  view,  old  age  is  a  misfor- 
tune ;  and,  like  all  misfortunes,  should  be  borne  with 


ON    OLD    AGE.  109 

dignity.  It  asks  a  staff,  but  not  a  crutch.  Hu- 
manly speaking,  old  age  is  a  disgrace ;  for  a  certain 
sense  of  shame  undoubtedly  accompanies  it.  It  has 
a  kind  of  inferiority,  for  it  is  timid.  According  to 
the  world,  it  is  a  series  of  degradations.  Time  is  its 
direct  and  natural  enemy ;  and  those  who  acknowl- 
edge the  supreme  authority  of  time  become  the 
executors  of  its  judgment  against  age.  In  God,  on 
the  contrary,  time  is  no  more  ;  and,  since  eternity  has 
already  begun  for  old  age,  its  last  foe  is  slain.  Age 
would  indeed  be  humiliating  if,  as  the  body  decays, 
the  soul  did  not  gain  in  dignity ;  but,  as  princes  rise 
in  rank  as  they  approach  the  throne,  so  the  old  man 
mounts  the  steps  of  eternity  by  successive  promo- 
tions. 

It  has  been  remarked,  with  great  justice,  that 
morality  in.  individuals  is  grander,  in  proportion  as 
they  are  able  to  sacrifice  the  present  to  the  future. 
Thus,  the  sensualist,  blinded  by  passion,  is  carried 
away  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  He  yields  to 
his  fierce  appetites  as  thoughtlessly  as  the  Caribbean, 
who  abandons  his  couch  in  the  morning  without  re- 
flecting that  he  will  need  it  at  night ;  while  the  moral 
man  forms  and  develops  his  plans,  and,  by  his  own 
laborious  effort,  attains  the  proposed  end. 

When  the  end  is  worthy,  the  enlightened  man 
makes  no  account  of  time.  He  can  trade  on  long 
credit;  and,  sometimes,  without  even  knowing  that 
he  is  eternal,  he  can  be  patient. 


110  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

When  we  see  a  man  undertaking  a  work  whose  ac- 
complishment he  will  not  witness,  are  we  not  touched 
by  such  devotion  to  the  well-being  of  posterity  ? 

When  a  young  man  even  plants  an  oaken  forest, 
or  lays  the  first  stone  of  an  edifice  which  will  be 
generations  in  building,  is  it  not  affecting  to  think 
of  his  self-sacrifice  for  those  whom  he  knows  not, 
and  who  will  never  know  him?  Ah,  well !  the  old 
man's  life  is  well-nigh  filled  with  such  disinterested 
deeds.  All  his  beginnings  are  acorns,  and  of  none 
of  his  hopes  will  he  see  the  full-grown  oak.  He 
may  finish  what  he  begins,  but  others  will  enjoy  it. 

The  world  enters  with  marvellous  readiness  into 
this  view  of  the  old  man,  and  assumes  the  responsi- 
bility of  all  its  consequences  ;  and  so,  acts  of  which 
the  world  makes  no  account,  acquire,  in  the  eyes  of 
God,  the  magnanimity  and  purity  of  intention  which 
make  them  pleasing  to  Him. 

And  so  it  is  that,  entering  unconsciously  into  the 
designs  of  Providence,  the  world  hastens  the  perfec- 
tion of  the  aged  by  purifying  their  virtue  from  all 
human  leaven,  and  leaving  undiminished  the  reward 
that  awaits  them.  Well  does  the  gospel  say  'that 
man  is  not  rewarded  twice.  The  virtues  formed, 
developed,  and  practised  under  the  eyes  of  God  alone, 
in  the  secrecy  of  solitude,  rank  next  in  merit  to  those 
deeds  of  the  right  hand  which  the  left  hand  knoweth 
not.  Human  observation  and  eulogium  have  not  tar- 
nished them,  and  none  of  their  virtue  is  wasted. 


ON    OLD    AGE.  Ill 

To  reap  the  full  fruit  of  the  good  deeds  we  have 
done  is  rarer  than  we  think ;  and  to  the  observation 
and  flattery  of  the  world  is  probably  due  nearly  all 
the  waste  they  must  necessarily  undergo. 

The  uninterrupted  practice  of  virtue  at  this  age  be- 
comes, in  reference  to  the  world,  something  resem- 
bling what  is  called,  in  the  interior  life,  the  state  of 
pure  faith,  —  wherein  the  soul,  smitten  with  barren- 
ness, finds  no  consolation  in  its  belief.  We  but 
vegetate  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  which  tolerates  us, 
as  though  we  were  of  the  nature  of  that  idol  of 
which  the  prophet  spoke,  —  without  eyes,  mouth, 
ears,  or  voice :  a  condition  as  wonderful  as  the 
death  we  die,  that  we  may  henceforth  live  to  God ; 
live  silent  and  watchful,  hearing  only  his  words, 
partaking  only  of  his  spirit. 

IX. 

An  ingenious  writer  has  said  that  "fifty  is  the 
youth  of  old  age.  It  is  a  brief  youth."  Local  rava- 
ges soon  begin,  and  are  promptly  followed  by  general 
decrepitude.  The  charity  of  the  world  dares  not 
say,  with  the  American  savage,  that  the  aged  must 
be  slain ;  but,  while  leaving  them  alive,  it  ceases 
greatly  to  regard  them.  If  they  retain  the  dignity 
suited  to  their  years,  people  avoid  them  for  fear  of 
imposing  constraint  or  inconvenience  upon  them- 
selves. If  they  condescend  voluntarily  to  renounce 
themselves,  and  wear  another  uniform,  contempt  and 


112  WRITINGS    OF  MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

ridicule  await  them.  Their  exterior  is  scanned  with 
ill-natured  curiosity.  They  are  pronounced  to  have 
either  too  much  or  too  little  self-respect.  Do  they 
endeavor  to  — 

"  Reparer  des  ans  Pirreparable  outrage/' 

the  world  laughs  in  its  sleeve,  at  their  futile  efforts. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  there  are  any  signs  of  careless- 
ness, the  world,  indignant  at  all  lack  of  consideration 
for  itself,  protests  against  the  cynicism  of  these  gray 
hairs  and  toothless  gums ;  this  ugliness,  in  short, 
enhanced  to  the  last  degree.  "  After  all,"  'tis  said, 
"  society  deserves  some  respect,  and  if  people  appear 
therein  it  must  be  on  certain  conditions." 

If  you  would  appreciate  the  worth  of  an  aged 
person,  notice  how  many  times  old  age  is  adduced 
as  a  plea  in  bar.  Is  the  old  man  pious  ?  You  will 
be  told  that  it  is  a  makeshift.  Does  he  strive  to  be 
burdensome  to  none,  and  to  show  that  he  is  easy  to 
please  ?  'Tis  because  his  heart  has  grown  old  like  his 
body,  rest  has  become  his  chief  good,  and  his  dis- 
interestedness is  only  indifference.  Does  a  sacred 
charm  invite  him  to  solitude?  He  has  merely  calcu- 
lated the  best  means  of  concealing  his  regret  for  lost 
privileges,  and  his  envy  of  those  whom  he  sees  in 
possession  around  him.  Are  the  bounties  of  the  old 
man  large?  What  merit  have  they  since  he  is  in- 
sensible to  privation,  and  only  gives  what  he  is  soon 
to  leave;  besides,  what  use  is  there  in  having  a  sou 


ON    OLD    AGE.  113 

after  sixty?  If  he  is  mild,  it  is  because  the  blood 
in  his  veins  is  iced  ;  if  he  is  patient  in  sickness,  it 
is  but  rational  to  remember  the  conditions  of  his 
age ;  if  he  is  resigned  to  death,  has  he  not  lived 
long?  In  short,  he  has  not  a  single  virtue,  but  the 
world  must  needs  question  it. 

I  admit  that  there  is  some  truth  in  these  accusa- 
tions, and  therefore  something  avoidable;  for  a  just 
reproach  almost  always  implies  the  capability  of 
amendment.  But  the  exquisite  tact  which  enables 
one  to  choose  his  way  amid  impediments  is  rare,  — 
rare  as  all  perfection,  and  in  one  way  or  another  there 
is  always  something  for  the  critic  to  lay  hold  of. 

x. 

What  is  true  of  old  men  is  yet  truer  of  old  women. 
Of  all  human  beings,  they  have  the  least  credit.  The 
old  woman,  as  the  world  goes,  is  something  that  does 
not  even  have,  like  the  old  man,  a  name  in  the 
elevated  style.  She  is  such  rubbish  that  even  those 
who  would  do  her  honor  must  avoid  her  name,  and 
have  recourse  to  a  circumlocution. 

There  is  no  sadder  sight  than  that  of  an  aged 
woman,  stripped  of  the  consideration  and  respect  that 
belong  to  the  dignity  of  a  serious  life.  The  poor  old 
woman,  and  her  trial  begins  early,  is  a  being  who  has 
positively  no  place  beneath  the  sun.  Even  by  the 
domestic  hearth ,  her  right  is  precarious  and  disputed  ; 
and,  outside  of  actual  life,  her  portion  is  no  better. 


114  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

She  is,  with  a  few  rare  exceptions,  excluded  from 
the  creations  of  the  artist  and  the  poet ;  and  the 
thought  of  her  hardly  ever  occurs  to  the  moralist, 
who  leaves  her  to  work  out  her  own  salvation  as 
best  she  may.  Our  priests  themselves,  many  of 
them  starting,  it  may  be,  from  the  natural  point 
of  view,  are  too  much  in  the  habit  of  regarding  even 
old  men  only  as  persons  whose  end  is  at  hand.  The 
chrysalis  makes  them  forget  the  butterfly.  But  who 
cares  for  an  old  woman  after  her  life  has  ceased  to 
be  scandalous  ?  Who  allows  her  progress  in  virtue  ? 
Who  comes  to  her  aid  in  spiritual  ways  ?  Men  are 
of  some  account,  even  in  advanced  years.  We  are 
proud  of  a  conquest  if  that  conquest  be  a  man,  and 
take  good  care  to  preserve  it ;  but  it  is  far  otherwise 
with  women,  whose  pettiness  and  chatter,  doubtless, 
furnish  occasions  against  them.  Are  we  not  sure 
of  retaining  these ;  and  who  is  not  rendered  cold  and 
careless  by  security?  Yes,  often  the  priest  himself, 
bound  to  the  service  of  weakness  and  infirmity ;  the 
priest,  of  all  other  men,  turns  his  back  upon  the  aged 
woman,  or  passes  her  by.  His  is  the  arm  and  mind 
of  youth,  when  he  would  contend  with  youth  or 
strengthen  it  in  combat.  Ripe  age,  as  a  regnant,  gov- 
erning force,  has  his  sympathies,  and  his  good  will. 
He  has  zeal  for  the  child,  encouragement  for  the 
adult,  reverence  for  the  old  man.  For  the  old  woman, 
what  has  he  but  neglect  or  abandonment?  And, 
however  slight  her  attempt  at  virtue,  he  feels  as  sure 


ON    OLD    AGE.  115 

of  her  salvation  as  of  the  health  of  those  uninterest- 
ing persons  who  are  always  well.  But  is  not  a  soul 
a  soul  to  whatever  body  bound?  Have  we  any 
rule  for  the  transports  of  religious  emotion?  Are 
not  people  converted  at  all  ages ;  and  is  conversion 
ever  complete  till  God  has  obtained  all  his  will? 

Let  an  aged  woman  obliterate  herself;  let  her  re- 
mind the  world  of  her  existence  only  by  the  favors 
and  pleasures  she  bestows  on  others  ;  and  the  world 
graciously  allows  her  to  live,  — recognizes  her  for  an 
inoffensive  being,  and  all  goes  smoothly. 

The  single  social  virtue  of  the  old  woman — the  vir- 
tue which  is  exactly  in  keeping  with  the  part  she  plays 
in  the  world  —  is  self-abnegation.  In  her  it  is  at  once 
an  obligatory  virtue  and  a  spontaneous  grace.  The 
uselessness  to  which  society,  as  well  as  nature,  con- 
demns her,  is  a  sure  index  of  providential  design. 
Let  the  old  woman  have  every  imaginable  virtue,  but 
all  in  self-denial.  She  must  die  to  herself  sincerely 
and  entirely ;  the  public  would  be  as  hard  to  deceive 
as  God  himself  in  this  respect.  Would  she  examine 
or  correct  herself  in  any  one  point,  prompt  and  con- 
spicuous justice  is  executed  on  her  at  once.  The 
essence  of  her  virtue  is  the  being  useful  to  those  who 
come  in  contact  with  her ;  her  kindness  is  a  univer- 
sal balm  ;  her  wise  prudence  is  security  ;  her  humble 
sweetness  is  often  the  peace  of  the  house  where  she 
dwells  ;  her  generosity,  the  wealth  of  those  about 
her.  Self-renunciation  —  so  fruitful  in  a  man  —  has, 


116  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

in  the  case  of  a  woman,  results  which  are  less  lofty, 
doubtless,  but  neither  less  appreciable  nor  less  gen- 
erally appreciated ;  and  so  the  old  woman  becomes 
convenient,  which  is,  just  now,  no  despicable  quality. 
She  is  one  who  requires  nothing,  and  gives  all ;  who 
is  of  no  more  account  than  if  she  were  absent,  and 
who  is  disposed  of  as  if  she  were  always  present ; 
whom  we  do  not  feel  bound  to  seek,  but  whom  we  are 
always  sure  of  finding ;  and,  on  the  whole,  a  rather 
good  piece  of  furniture. 

XI. 

It  is  well  for  old  age  to  suffer,  — it  is,  in  fact,  its 
normal  condition,  —  but  it  must  not  weep:  tears 
solace  youth  alone.  When  they  flow  over  the  wrinkles 
of  age,  sympathy  is  no  longer  by  to  wipe  them  away, 
nor  glowing  love  to  dry  these  last  autumnal  dews* 

f?  When  thou  wast  young,"  said  our  Lord  to  St. 
Peter,  w  thou  girdedst  thyself,  and  walkedst  whither 
thou  wouldst ;  but  when  thou  shalt  be  old,  thou  shalt 
stretch  forth  thy  hand,  and  another  shall  gird  thee, 
and  carry  thee  whither  thou  wouldst  not."  The  old 
are  clogged  and  fettered  on  every  side.  Dependence 
and  a  hard  servitude  weigh  heavily  on  their  enfeebled 
organs.  But,  as  their  chains  grow  heavier  and  are 
more  closely  riveted,  as  their  supports  fail  and  their 
ties  are  silently  loosened,  what  new  liberties  break 
their  shells  and  try  their  wings  !  What  unchecked 
aspirations,  what  a  sense  of  deliverance,  what  free- 


ON    OLD   AGE.  117 

dom  of  motion  through  the  enlarged  space  !  Is  not 
the  aged  Christian  the  freest  of  Jesus  Christ's  free- 
men ?  What  is  external  dependence  compared  to  the 
perfect  liberty  within  ? 

This  perfect  liberty  of  the  old  man  — 

"  Lui  permet  la  franchise,  attribut  des  vieux  ans." 
This  frankness  may  rise  even  to  boldness ;  for,  while 
redoubling  its  care  and  caution  for  others,  old  age 
makes  free  use  of  absolute  independence  for  itself. 
Youth  has  present,  living  interests  to  care  for,  and 
a  long  future  unfolding  before  it ;  but  age  can  brave 
all  with  a  moral  good  in  view.  The  pearl  of  great 
price  is  always  before  the  eyes  of  the  aged.  They 
would  seek  it  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

In  youth,  we  need  external  help  in  all  matters  per- 
taining to  salvation.  In  age,  every  thing  conduces  to 
it ;  and  that  which  was  against  us  is  for  us.  And  so 
those  faults  and  propensities,  which  were  but  ill- 
directed  forces,  are  all  turned  to  good  account  in  the 
new  application  which  is  made  of  them,  and  from 
the  moment  when  God  takes  them  into  his  own 
hands. 

How  well  it  is,  if  God  prolongs  life,  to  have  its 
too  external  activities  interrupted ;  and  to  employ  it 
in  a  higher,  a  deeper,  a  more  spiritual  service  !  The 
influence  exerted  upon  ourselves  and  others  loses 
nothing  of  its  power  thereby ;  but,  if  its  radius  is 
shorter,  its  strength  is  more  concentrated ;  the  good 
we  effect  changes  its  sphere,  but  is  not  abated ;  and. 


118  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

nothing,  it  seems  to  me,  is  so  reasonable  as  a  transi- 
tion which  puts  in  more  direct  communication  our 
means  and  end  of  action.  Old  age  is  a  kind  of  no- 
vitiate in  spirituality.  The  outside  world  is  slipping 
away, — it  rests  less  upon  itself;  it  is  becoming  less  fit 
to  subserve  material  interests,  but  the  others  remain. 
Old  age  is  the  novitiate  of  death,  —  but  of  that 
death,  pregnant  with  life,  which  is  promised  to  the 
Christian.  The  novitiate  partakes  of  the  character 
of  the  succeeding  state ;  and  death,  which  is  the  veil 
of  immortality  on  this  side  the  solemn  passage,  is 
tinged  by  the  fires  that  are  to  come. 

People  are  always  talking  of  the  darkness  of  the 
grave.  I  am  far  more  impressed  by  the  beams  that 
issue,  from  it.  Old  age  is  on  the  best  plane  to  receive 
them.  Death  is  the  justification  of  all  the  Chris- 
tian's ways ;  the  conclusive  reason  for  all  his  sacri- 
fices ;  that  touch  of  the  great  Master  that  completes 
the  picture. 

XII. 

One  great  cause  of  regret  for  old  age  is,  that  our 
Lord  has  not  sanctified  this  period  of  life  by  passing 
through  it.  It  is  the  sole  age  to  which  he  has  not 
bequeathed  his  example.  The  teachings  of  his  child- 
hood, silent  though  they  be,  are  none  the  less  instruc- 
tive. Still  the  gospel  develops  them  but  slightly. 
Only  his  middle  life  is,  as  one  may  say,  in  light ;  as 
if  to  teach  us  that,  as  children,  we  must  hasten  to 
become  men,  and,  later,  to  become  saints. 


ON   OLD   AGE.  119 

XIII. 

Old  age  is  the  majestic  and  imposing  dome  of  hu- 
man life.  God  makes  it  the  sanctuary  of  all  wisdom 
and  justice ;  the  tabernacle  of  the  purest  virtues. 
Experience  has  taught  the  old  man  all  things ;  and 
his  personal  endeavors  have  reduced  his  acquirements 
to  that  simple  state,  —  that  perfect  unity, — where 
each  conviction  has  its  proof  and  counter-proof.  His 
are  the  treasures  of  tradition,  and  those  of  acquired 
knowledge,  — ancient  lore  and  modern  facts,  in  their 
order,  practical  truth,  and  eternal  verity,  the  relative 
and  the  absolute,  —  that  which  helps  our  conduct  in 
this  world,  and  that  which  leads  us  to  another.  If 
death  were  only  the  blossoming  of  life,  —  the  sublime 
flower  of  that  plant  whose  spreading  roots  underlie 
the  earth, — if,  as  saith  the  apostle,  death  merely 
clothed  us  with  immortality  :  old  age  would  be  the 
apogee  of  life,  — its  culminating  point,  its  epoch  of 
wealth  and  power.  But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
death  is  the  wages  of  sin  ;  and,  as  such,  it  causes  the 
weight  of  our  condemnation  to  fall  heavily  upon  old 
age.  Old  age  is  the  term  of  grace  —  sometimes  a  lit- 
tle protracted  —  when  all  accounts  must  be  audited, 
all  allowances  confirmed,  and  when  the  invisible 
Creditor  exacts  his  dues.  Of  all  the  seasons  of  life, 
old  age  is  that  in  w^hich  the  sentence  with  which 
man  is  weighted  is  most  keenly  felt.  The  forecast 
shadow  of  death  overspreads  the  close  of  life.  But 


120  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

death  has  been  redeemed,  like  all  things  else.  Old 
age  is  the  central  point.  Night  is  on  one  side,  and 
dawn  on  the  other.  Ransomed  death  permits  a  pas- 
sage to  the  beams  of  the  true  life,  and  our  last  twi- 
lights are  nearer  than  any  others  to  the  eternal 
light. 

We  can  understand  why  pagan  antiquity  should 
have  been  as  little  able  as  scepticism  itself  to  grasp 
these  changeful  glimmerings  of  old  age,  —  deep  dark- 
ness or  growing  light,  —  according  to  the  side  from 
which  we  view  them,  or  the  point  where  we  stand ; 
according  as  we  hope  or  deny. 

Horace  called  death  "  in  ceternum  exilium : "  a 
going  away  into  eternal  exile.  The  Christian  calls 
it  a  return  to  his  everlasting  fatherland.  Here  is  all 
the  difference  between  the  two  points  of  view. 

There  is,  in  Russia,  an  old  and  very  touching 
custom,  which  our  ancestors  used  faithfully  to  ob- 
serve. In  the  hour  of  departure,  when  the  prepara- 
tions are  complete,  all  seat  themselves, — travellers 
and  by-standers,  —  making  a  solemn  halt,  as  if  to 
collect  their  thoughts  for  the  last  time,  before  the 
supreme  moment  of  separation.  Is  it  not  a  striking 
type  of  old  age,  which  is  itself  a  halt  before  depart- 
ure, — 

"  Voyageurs  d'un  moment  aux  terres  etrangeres, 
Consolez-vous,  vous  etes  immortels  "  ! 

All  question  of  the  old  man's  well-being  becomes 
a  question  of  immortality,  according  as  the  point  of 


ON   OLD  AGE.  121 

departure  is  a  life  which  is  passing  away,  or  a  life 
for  which  he  is  momently  preparing.  If  the  thoughts 
of  faith  are  deeply  impressed  upon  his  soul,  what  a 
sight  must  he  not  see  in  this  vanquished  world,  — 
the  raw  material  of  all  the  changes  which  have  taken 
place  within  himself! 

We  say  "  declining  years  ;  "  but,  if  heaven  be  our 
true  centre,  the  decline  of  our  twofold  being  is  con- 
temporaneous with  its  ascent.  Soul  and  body  are  in 
almost  perpetual  contradiction.  In  the  failing  of 
nature,  it  is  not  merely  destruction  which  is  hasten- 
ing on,  but  liberty  and  glory, — the  perfection  of  a 
soul  which  grows  ever  more  radiant  as  the  spiritual 
principle  absorbs  all  others.  As  the  body  sinks  into 
decrepitude,  the  soul  is  tempered ;  and,  by  the  simul- 
taneous acceleration  of  these  two  processes,  the  frame 
returns  to  the  dust,  and  the  spirit  to  heaven.  Death 
for  the  one  is  immortal  youth  for  the  other.  David 
was  old  when  he  called  upon  the  God  of  his  youth  : 
but  it  was  not  the  God  of  his  past  whom  he  invoked, 
any  more  than  the  God  of  Jacob  is  the  God  of  the 
dead.  It  was  the  God  of  the  present  to  whom  David 
appealed,  —  the  God  of  that  youth  which  he  felt 
flourishing  and  blossoming  in  the  depths  of  his  being. 
For  if  the  children  of  light  enjoy  day  in  the  midst  of 
night,  the  children  of  immortality  keep  their  youth 
amid  the  snows  of  age. 


122  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

XIV. 

Old  age  is  not  denied  fertility.  Behold  how  the 
aged  tree  clothes  itself  with  a  foliage  as  young  as 
that  of  the  shrub  ;  bearing  flowers  and  fruit  while  its 
life  lasts,  whatever  be  the  number  of  the  years  that 
have  left  their  date  on  the  bark  of  its  aged  stem. 
While  the  tree  lives,  it  produces  leafage ;  and,  in 
default  of  fruit,  yields  shelter  and  shade.  And, 
in  the  spiritual  order,  God  has  willed  that  man 
should  always  have  the  power  to  conceive  and  bring 
forth  the  new  man ;  not  miraculously,  like  Sarah 
and  Elizabeth,  but  regularly  and  of  right. 

While  all  created  things,  our  bodies  included, 
speedily  attain  their  last  degree  of  development  and 
perfection,  then  pause,  and  turn,  —  so  to  speak, — 
rounding  the  circle  of  their  organism  or  their  in- 
stinct, to  where  weakness  and  decadence  take  them 
back  to  their  original  state ;  man,  on  the  contrary,  — 
the  human  intelligence,  —  grows  and  develops  un- 
ceasingly in  all  his  faculties.  He  pursues  an  unlim- 
ited career,  a  perpetually  ascending  line  of  knowledge 
and  virtue. 

The  error  which  consists  in  believing  that  the 
Church  can  have  an  era  of  decrepitude,  is  one  with 
that  which  allows  a  similar  failure  of  the  immaterial 
principle  in  man.  These  opinions  go  hand  in  hand, 
because  there  is  in  both  cases  a  question  of  assimilat- 
ing the  law  which  governs  mind  to  that  which 
governs  matter. 


ON   OLD    AGE.  123 

Observe,  by  the  way,  that  our  celebrated  prose- 
writers  preserve  their  superiority  till  the  decline  of 
life;  while  our  poets,  save  in  cases  of  extraordinary 
genius,  fall  with  the  winter.  Thought  with  the 
former  dwells  constantly  on  the  sober  realities  of 
the  Christian  life  :  with  the  latter,  it  is  but  a  pastime. 
But  this  playfulness  demands  a  sensuous  rapture,  of 
which  the  old  have  ceased  to  be  capable ;  and  'tis  a 
glorious  impotence,  for  which  they  should  not  grieve. 
What  laments  over  bright  days  gone  we  find  in  the 
votaries  of  the  Muses  !  What  contempt  of  youth  in 
Bossuet !  The  great  bishop  dates  life  only  by  white 
hairs.1 

Yet  the  true  poets,  like  the  great  artists,  have 
scarcely  any  childhood,  and  no  old  age. 

XV. 

It  is  said  that  old  age  freezes  the  activity  of  man 
in  the  performance  of  spiritual  duty.  What  matters 
this,  O  my  God!  if  thou  dost  provide  therefor? 
Already  hath  the  gospel  taught  us,  that,  before  thy 
tribunal,  there  is  neither  Greek,  Barbarian,  nor 
Scythian.  Even  so,  its  divine  spirit  further  instructs 
us  that,  in  thy  eyes,  souls  have  neither  age  nor  sex. 
I  know  it :  faith,  like  virtue,  is  independent  of  the 
number  of  one's  years  ;  yet  who  believes  that  the  im- 


1  Moreau,  "  Considerations  sur  la  Vraie  Doctrine."    1844.    8vo. 
pp.  198,  199. 


124  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

mediate  approach  of  the  inevitable  end  has  not,  after 
all,  a  significance  and  an  effect  peculiar  to  itself?  The 
venerable  Abbd  Desjardins  said,  two  or  three  years 
before  his  death,  that  it  was  barely  eighteen  months 
since  he  first  saw  the  things  of  this  world  in  their 
true  light  relative  to  those  of  eternity.  The  approach 
of  the  formidable  moment  perfected  his  intellect ;  and, 
from  being  a  pious,  learned,  and  always  irreproach- 
able Christian,  he  became  a  saint. 

"  O  faces  of  the  saints  ;  sweet  and  firm  lips,  accus- 
tomed to  name  the  name  of  God,  and  to  kiss  the 
cross  of  his  Son ;  dear  glances,  which  discern  a  bro- 
ther in  the  poorest  creature ;  hairs  blanched  by  med- 
itations on  eternity,  sacred  colors  of  the  soul  shining 
in  age  and  death,  — blessed  are  they  who  have  seen 
you ;  more  blessed  they  who  have  understood,  and 
who  have  received  from  your  transfigured  contours 
lessons  of  wisdom  and  immortality."  l 

XVI. 

Has  aught  in  nature  been  utterly  disinherited? 
When  was  God  known  wholly  to  abandon  the  work 
of  his  hands  ?  Has  not  winter  its  beauties  ?  Do  not 
its  rigors  set  off  its  charms  ?  In  our  harsh  climate 
is  not  the  sky  deep  and  blue?  Does  not  the  sun 
cover  the  hoar-frost  with  diamonds,  and  draw  sparkles 
from  the  jewelled  snow?  Have  we  not,  in  stern 

1  Father  Lacordaire,  48th  Sermon. 


ON    OLD   AGE.  125 

winter,  by  way  of  contrast  to  the  roaring  storm  and 
the  icy  cold  without,  the  gathering  about  the  fire- 
side, where  the  covered  fire  retains  a  warmth  amid 
the  ashes,  which  fitly  symbolizes  the  constant  temper- 
ate heat  of  the  old  man's  heart,  —  a  mild,  soft  glow, 
—  ever  the  same  amid  all  the  vagaries  and  devasta- 
tions of  the  changeful  human  seasons? 

In  my  long  winter  journeys,  I  have  often  been 
struck  by  remarkable  effects  of  form  and  light,  attest- 
ing that  nature  no  more  than  man  undergoes  that 
passive  condition  of  anticipated  death  to  which  the 
world  would  fain  condemn  old  age.  Ah  !  in  the 
works  of  God,  and  in  our  hearts,  there  is  always  life 
and  power  enough  for  love  and  blessing ;  always 
space  for  us  to  cry  with  the  prophets,  — 

"  O  ye  fire  and  heat,  bless  ye  the  Lord  !  O  ye 
winter  and  summer,  bless  ye  the  Lord  !  O  ye  dews 
and  storms  of  snow,  bless  ye  the  Lord !  O  ye  ice 
and  cold,  bless  ye  the  Lord  !  O  ye  frost  and  snow, 
bless  ye  the  Lord  !  O  ye  nights  and  days,  bless  ye 
the  Lord  I"1 

"  Bless  ye  the  Lord,  all  ye  servants  of  the  Lord, 
which  by  night  stand  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  ! " 

*c  Lift  up  your  hands  in  the  sanctuary,  and  bless 
the  Lord."2 

Old  age  is  the  night  of  life,  and  night  the  old  age 

1  The  Song  of  the  Three  Holy  Children,  chap.  v.  44-50. 

2  Ps.  cxxxiv. 


126  WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

of  the  day ;  yet  is  the  night  full  of  magnificence,  and, 
for  many,  more  brilliant  than  the  day.  With  many, 
night  is  the  place  for  thought ;  as  God  is  the  place 
of  the  soul,  and  space  that  of  the  body.  There  re- 
flection holds  audience,  and  meditation  seeks  an  asy- 
lum. There  it  is  that  we  best  hear  and  comprehend 
that  silence  which  is,  in  the  words  of  Philo,  the  voice 
of  God.  To  old  age  has  been  accorded  the  nearest  and 
plainest  manifestation  of  God,  as  it  has  been  given 
to  the  night  to  be  the  witness  of  Christ's  birth  and 
resurrection  ;  shining  nights,  which  have  been  hon- 
ored by  the  name  of  blessed. 

Infinite  are  the  analogies  between  age  and  night ! 
We  must  contemplate  the  one  in  God,  as  we  must 
study  the  other  in  the  heavens.  Think  whether  there 
are  seasons  for  the  dear  stars  in  the  firmament ;  then 
look  at  the  night  of  age.  That,  too,  is  sown  with 
stars ;  and  the  old  man,  like  the  sky,  has  naught  to 
do  with  seasons.  The  changeful  world  sways  and 
tosses  at  his  feet,  but  the  impassibility  of  the  firma- 
ment is  already  his.  Let  him  retire  into  the  realm 
of  his  own  pious  thoughts.  He  has  room  enough 
there  ;  and,  whether  winter  or  summer  smite  the  lower 
regions,  the  upper  air  is  always  blue,  and  every  dia- 
mond is  a  world. 

Sometimes,  in  the  long  polar  nights,  there  comes 
a  glimmer  like  that  of  dawn,  which,  for  a  moment, 
dispels  the  shadows ;  so,  in  the  night  of  advanced 
age,  instinctive  illuminations  greet  the  gaze,  which 


ON   OLD   AGE.  127 

seem  to  belong  to  a  coming  day.  The  night  hours 
have  been  good  to  me ;  and  it  is  rare,  indeed,  that 
these  beloved  companions  fail  to  bring  me  a  blessing 
in  the  guise  of  some  holy  thought  or  emotion. 

"Day  is  for  man,"  an  old  writer  has  said,  "and 
night  is  for  the  gods."  Yes  :  the  day,  with  its  noise 
and  activity,  belongs  to  man  and  his  affairs,  —  as  do 
youth,  and  the  strength  of  manhood ;  while  the 
night,  with  its  silence  and  meditation,  is  God's,  — 
like  age,  wherein  the  thought  of  heaven  predominates 
over  all  the  interests  of  life.  Is  not  this  period  like 
the  rest  which  follows  the  last  hour  of  daylight,  — the 
rest  which  comes  when  our  duties  are  all  done  ?  And 
are  not  the  last  years  of  the  old  man's  life,  which 
correspond  to  these  late  hours,  peculiarly  his  own, 
more  so  than  any  other  ?  Has  he  not  discharged  all 
his  debts,  —  this  veteran  of  the  earth,  —  and,  it  may 
be,  in  the  words  of  the  psalmist,  "  paid  that  which 
he  owed  not."  What  remains  is  his  own,  —  all 
his  own.  And  this,  his  possession,  what  is  it  but 
God? 

"The  Lord  commandeth  his  loving-kindness  in 
the  day-time,  and  our  songs  of  thanksgiving  in  the 
night."1 

The  higher  we  mount,  the  later  comes  the  night. 
Age  is  the  hill  "  whence  cometh  our  help."  When 
all  around  is  folded  and  lost  in  shadow,  that  peak, 

i  Ps.  xliii. 


128  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

visited  by  the  sunbeams,  shines  with  the  gathered 
brightness  of  a  long  life,  and  shows  from  afar  like  a 
watch-tower. 

What  was  Anna,  the  daughter  of  Phanuel,  but  a 
lamp  burning  in  the  temple?  And  does  not  the 
gospel  teach  us,  by  the  example  of  this  saintly  widow, 
that  age  may  pass  its  night  without  ever  quitting  the 
temple  ;  serving  God  in  fasting  and  prayer,  —  fasting 
from  all  human  joys,  unceasing  prayer  to  him  for 
whose  coming  it  waits  ?  1 

What  is  it  to  wait  for  God  on  the  strength  of  his 
word,  but  to  taste  at  once  the  charm  of  mystery  and 
the  great  joy  of  certainty  ;  to  discern  across  a  golden 
twilight  the  brightness  of  the  uncreated  light ;  to 
have,  at  the  same  time,  the  rapture  of  learning  and 
knowing ;  to  collect  our  thoughts  for  happiness ;  to 
prepare  ourselves  for  joy ;  to  call,  and  feel  that  we 
are  answered  ? 

"If  any  man  hear  my  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I 
will  come  in  with  him  and  sup  with  him,  and  he 
with  me."2  Happy  old  age  !  It  is  for  supper,  and 
not  for  a  mid-day  feast,  where  noise  and  tumult 
reign  ;  it  is  to  sup  with  us  that  our  Lord  will  come  : 
at  the  close  of  the  dull,  weary,  toilsome  day ;  at  the 
hour  of  long,  sweet,  friendly  talks,  when  intimacy 
grows  deepest,  and  confidence  flows  with  a  full 
stream ;  at  night-fall,  when  hearts  approach  and 

l  Luke  ii.  4.  2  Rev.  xi.  20. 


ON    OLD    AGE.  129 

mingle,  and  think  of  naught  save  how  to  bless  and 
sanctify  the  sleep  which  is  to  follow. 

I  collect  myself,  O  my  God  !  at  the  close  of  life, 
as  at  the  close  of  day,  and  bring  to  thee  my  thoughts 
and  my  love.  The  last  thoughts  of  a  heart  that 
loves  thee,  are  like  those  last,  deepest,  ruddiest  rays 
of  the  setting  sun.  Thou  hast  willed,  O  my  God  ! 
that  life  should  be  beautiful  even  to  the  end.  Make 
me  to  grow  and  keep  my  green,  and  climb  like  the 
plant  which  lifts  its  head  to  thee  for  the  last  time 
before  it  drops  its  seed  and  dies. 


NUNC    DIMITTIS. 


A    STEEPER   slope,  a  stronger  impulse,   hurry 
•^  me  to  the  tomb.     Each  hour,  as  it  passes, 

strips  me  of  something,  and  carries  me  a  few  steps 
farther  down.  The  grains  of  dust  at  the  bottom  of 
the  clepsydra  are  few ;  and  I  count  them  without 
terror.  How  imposing  are  these  remaining  years  of 
ours,  — these  years  which  may  be  but  a  day  !  The 
eve  of  any  great  day  has  a  character  of  solemnity, 
and  the  greatest  of  all  dawns  in  eternity. 

Nunc  dimittis.  Now  lettest  thou  thy  servant 
depart  in  peace,  O  Lord  !  His  load  is  lightened. 
The  weakest  of  thy  angels  could  carry  it  under  his 
wing.  His  swelling  pride  is  humbled.  The  ego 
has  lost  its  substance.  The  world  has  withdrawn  its 
stupid  favors.  The  weight  of  sin  has  been  removed 
by  forgiveness  and  tears ;  and  beneath  thy  light  and 
easy  yoke  all  his  limbs  move  freely. 


CHRISTIANITY, 
PROGRESS,   AND   CIVILIZATION. 


TF  man  were  not  a  perpetual  recipient ;  if  he  had 
•*•  created,  discovered,  or  chanced  upon  aught  that  he 
possesses ;  if  all  germs  were  native  within  him,  and 
brought  to  light  by  some  unassisted  creative  virtue 
of  his  own,  —  I  could  understand  how,  in  conse- 
quence of  such  a  beginning,  so  unlike  his  actual  origin, 
it  \vould  be  impossible  for  him  ever  to  pause  or  to 
end.  On  this  hypothesis,  the  very  fact  that  he  had 
grasped  primary  truths  would  make  it  inevitable 
that  the  infinite  order  to  which  they  belong  should 
reveal  to  him  its  inexhaustible  treasures. 

But  in  reality  it  is  not  so.  By  the  association  of 
matter  with  the  undying  soul,  human  power  and 
activity  have  been  circumscribed  on  every  side.  God 
has  selected,  from  the  infinite  store-house  of  his  wis- 
dom, certain  notions  which  he  has  made  the  patri- 
mony and  common  groundwork  of  humanity ;  he  has 
limited  their  number,  so  to  speak,  as  he  has  that  of 
colors  and  sounds.  All  the  rest  of  the  eternal 


132  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Father's  domain  is  inaccessible  to  man.  He  explores 
only  the  sphere  in  which  he  is  shut  up  ;  his  ex- 
ploits are  confined  to  a  given  corner  of  the  earth  ; 
for  to  him,  as  to  the  ocean,  have  been  set  bounds 
that  he  cannot  pass  over.  Do  we  say,  then,  that 
time  has  been  doomed  to  impotence,  and  man  to 
inaction  ? 

No.  Time  presides  over  the  successive  develop- 
ment and  gradual  progress  of  masses,  but  its  years 
and  its  ages  are  alike  powerless  to  make  the  human 
species  attain  its  culminating  point  of  intellectual  or 
moral  grandeur.  What  time  necessarily  perfects, 
are  methods  and  classifications.  What  it  creates  are 
instruments,  and  this  is  quite  glory  enough.  Look 
at  letters,  science,  and  philosophy  ! 

Disputes  have  sometimes  been  raised  about  the 
comparative  literary  eminence  of  the  ancients  and 
the  "moderns.  If  we  are  to  believe  Fontenelle,  for 
example,  in  his  famous  polemic  against  his  adversary 
Lamotte,  chronology  suffices  to  mark  the  advance  of 
the  human  mind.  Given,  the  numbers  of  any  two 
centuries,  and  we  know  at  once  which  surpasses 
the  other.  No  doubt  the  general  level  of  science 
or  human  attainment  rises,  like  the  soil  of  our  cities, 
by  the  simple  action  of  time ;  but  has  the  gifted  man 
of  our  day  more  talent  than  the  gifted  man  of  a 
thousand  years  ago?  Do  we  reckon  many  savans 
in  our  academies  of  Paris,  London,  or  Berlin,  who 
transcend  the  proportions  of  Pythagoras,  Plato,  or 


CHRISTIANITY,  PROGRESS,  AND    CIVILIZATION.    133 

Aristotle  ?  —  many  architects  who  can  outdo  the 
Parthenon,  many  sculptors  who  eclipse  Phidias  or 
Praxiteles  ? 

It  is  from  the  hands  of  the  Creator  that  genius 
issues,  full-armed  like  Minerva,  without  regard  to 
date.  Great  men  are  but  a  result  of  the  divine  abso- 
lutism. Without  revelation,  —  which  came  to  apprise 
us  of  a  heaven  which,  alas  !  we  know  not  how  to 
conquer  nor  even  to  desire,  —  what  change  could  have 
been  wrought  in  human  destiny  by  the  unassisted 
act  of  man? 

The  Christian  is  often  confronted  with  the  prog- 
ress and  the  blessings  attributed  to  the  Reforma- 
tion of  the  sixteenth,  and  the  philosophy  of  the 
eighteenth,  centuries.  Now,  in  my  opinion,  what 
Christians  should  dare  acknowledge  to  themselves, 
and  reply  to  others,  is  this  : 

Yes  :  in  the  long-run  there  have  been  few  more 
severe  and  humiliating  punishments  inflicted  upon 
Christians  than  the  collective  events  which  were 
consummated  under  the  name  of  reform,  and  which 
all  arose  from  hatred  or  contempt  of  the  Catholics. 

A  second  test,  less  rigorous  in  its  character,  though 
equally  accusatory,  is  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  a  period  during  which  the  enemies  of  Chris- 
tianity were  left  to  deduce  the  corollary  of  those 
social  truths,  strongly  entrenched,  like  truths  of  every 
sort,  in  the  heart  of  the  Church.  The  humani- 
tarian theories  of  the  last  century  made  an  outlet 


134  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

for  a  part  only  of  what  was  latent  in  Christianity, 
and  the  philosophers  did  but  attempt  to  extend  to 
society  what  had  hitherto  been  applied  exclusively 
to  the  individual.  They  endeavored  to  enlarge  the 
circle,  and  widen  the  application  of  the  precept;  but, 
in  reality,  every  truth  they  ever  promulgated  was 
drawn  from  the  fount  of  Christianity,  and  bore  the 
mark  of  its  spirit.  But  how  was  it  that  Christian 
society  allowed  itself  to  be  outstripped  by  those  who, 
at  the  same  time,  were  stabbing  the  breast  that  had 
nourished  them?  What  shall  we  say  of  those  heed- 
less and  ungrateful  sons  who  leave  their  father's 
estate  to  be  pillaged  by  those  who  offer  him  insult? 
Let  us  be  generous  and  indulgent  to  our  enemies  ; 
but  to  the  brothers  whom  we  respect  and  cherish, 
our  severity  is  due.  Do  not  the  faults  of  the  Catho- 
lics touch  us  far  more  nearly  than  the  heinous  in- 
justice of  their  foes?  In  reform  and  encyclopedist 
philosophy,  therefore,  for  how  much  do  the  laxity 
and  the  abuses  which  induced  them  count? 

The  philosophers,  on  the  other  hand,  cannot  deny 
the  identity  of  their  maxims  with  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity. What  they  took  or  gave  for  original  views 
were  generally  only  deductions  from  principles  depos- 
ited in  their  hearts  by  early  education.  What  they 
came  to  announce  corresponded  with  that  which  it 
has  ever  been  the  mission  of  Christianity  to  introduce 
into  the  world,  as  the  notes  whose  origin  and  larceny 
we  are  attempting  to  prove,  are  found  upon  trial  to 


CHRISTIANITY,  PROGRESS,  AND    CIVILIZATION.    135 

correspond  with  the  counterparts  from  which  they 
were  cut  off. 

That  the  eighteenth  century  was  animated  by  a 
sincere  affection  for  humanity  is  possible  ;  but,  after 
all,  what  did  it  say,  what  did  it  do  —  or,  rather,  what 
did  it  desire  to  do  —  which  Christianity  has  not  com- 
prehended within  itself  from  all  time?  Christianity 
claims  the  same  end  and  tendency,  only  it  would  have 
manifested  a  different  spirit,  and  employed  other 
means. 

For,  in  short,  despite  those  who  do  not  shrink 
from  employing  in  the  meanest  service  the  sacred 
majesty  of  the  gospel,  the  mission  of  Christianity  has 
ever  been  to  act  upon  society ;  while  holding  itself 
utterly  aloof  from  definite  temporal  contests,  and 
taking  care  to  impose  no  political  regimen,  properly 
so  called.  Without  being  unfaithful  to  the  word  of 
its  divine  Founder,  — "  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this 
world,"  —  without  proposing  as  the  immediate  ob- 
ject of  its  teaching  the  modification  of  States,  insti- 
tutions, or  laws,  —  bearing  sway  in  a  loftier  sphere 
than  that  of  the  forum  or  the  senate,  —  Christianity 
has  transformed  the  world  by  transforming  the  con- 
science. It  penetrates  into  the  most  secret  recesses 
of  the  human  heart ;  it  strives  but  for  the  salvation 
of  souls;  yet,  by  a  wonderful  concatenation,  by  an 
indirect  but  infallible  method,  that  which  operates 
upon  the  individual  reacts  upon  society  at  large. 

Thus  it  is  that  Christianity,  without  affecting  poli- 
tics, has  never  failed  to  show  itself  a  civilizer. 


136  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

We  need  but  to  ask  ourselves  in  what  direction 
civilization  is  going  or  should  go.  It  is  not  Chris- 
tianity that  will  falter  at  this  question.  From  what- 
ever quarter  the  wind  of  human  thought  may  blow, 
Christianity  pursues  its  own  course.  It  is  the  princi-' 
pie  of  all  development ;  the  moving  force,  the  prime 
motor,  in  a  certain  sense ;  like  steam,  which  serves 
all  purposes,  instead  of  being  applicable  only  to  a 
limited  number  of  ends. 

Christianity  is  identified  with  no  political  regime  : 
its  character  of  universality  forbids  this.  It  is  the  es- 
sence of  progress,  but  it  must  be  able  to  go  along 
with  all  degrees  of  civilization.  It  does  not  wait  till 
a  people  has  arrived  at  such  or  such  a  level,  but  re- 
sponds to  all  actual  conditions.  Indifferent  to  tem- 
porary accidents,  it  attacks  the  wrong  principle. 
Wherever  it  encounters  that,  it  labors  to  undermine 
it ;  indiscriminately  aiming  only  at  the  extirpation  of 
that  evil  which  it  came  to  earth  to  withstand.  Injus- 
tice, —  denial  of  right  or  contempt  of  humanity, 
wherever  found,  —  it  refers  to  the  same  source. 

The  social  tendency  of  Christianity,  then,  is  sim- 
ply toward  the  maintenance  or  the  establishment  of 
God's  kingdom  in  society,  —  a  kingdom  which  is  in- 
compatible neither  with  a  monarchy,  the  most  per- 
fect image  of  the  family ;  nor  with  an  oligarchy,  the 
government  of  sages ;  nor  with  an  aristocracy,  the 
representative  of  national  traditions,  and  the  collec- 
tive force  of  wealth  and  intellect ;  nor  with  a  demo- 


CHRISTIANITY,  PROGRESS,  AND    CIVILIZATION.    137 

cracy,  if  the  latter  be  well-disciplined  and  strong  in 
its  self-possession. 

Transgressions  of  the  divine  law  constitute  not 
merely  the  sin  and  sorrow  of  the  individual,  but  the 
sin  and  sorrow  of  nations.  Outside  of  Christianity, 
neither  prosperity  nor  freedom  will  ever  be  lasting. 
History,  recording  in  its  annals  the  long  course  of 
deception  practised  both  by  peoples  and  by  kings, 
demonstrates  the  fact  that,  if  nations  and  their  chiefs 
had  been  more  docile  to  the  teachings  of  Christianity, 
the  political  condition  of  the  world  would  have  been 
far  other  than  it  is  to-day. 

The  divine  element  alone  can  vanquish  the  two 
great  powers  of  evil,  pride  and  sensual  desire.  Pride 
for  the  mind,  concupiscence  for  the  body ;  these  are 
man's  two  poles.  They  are  all.  Who,  in  his  own 
strength,  shall  contend  with  them?  The  mere  at- 
tempt to  do  so  requires  God. 

Christianity  concerns  itself  neither  with  the  branches 
of  the  tree  to  influence  their  bent,  nor  with  its  foliage, 
nor  with  its  trunk  even :  but  it  keeps  watch  of 
the  sap  whence  all  the  rest  emanate ;  and  branches, 
trunk,  and  foliage  profit  by  its  care. 

Do  right  implicitly,  without  accepting  any  political 
system,  and  the  political  system  becomes  the  sincere 
representative  of  that  cause  of  truth  and  right  which 
will  profit  by  such  action.  In  this  world  we  must 
know  how  to  wait,  and  had  far  better  sow  than  aspire 
to  reap.  Only  violence  moves  with  rapidity  ;  but  the 


138  WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

traces  of  its  passage  may  as  quickly  disappear.  Use- 
ful action  is  slow.  Its  toil  is  long  unnoticed,  but  its 
effects  never  fail  to  make  themselves  felt  afar.  If 
you  remove  from  the  realm  of  circumstance  and  hu- 
man seduction  the  ideas  which  you  know  to  be  indis- 
putably right,  and  devote  yourself  to  these,  your 
conscience  is  satisfied.  Attach  yourself,  then,  to  this 
certain  good ;  opposing  to  all  else  a  moral  resistance, 
whereby  society  may  count  an  activity  the  less,  but 
never  a  danger  the  more. 

And  let  us  not  lightly  brave  the  possible  peril  of 
missing  God's  thought  in  the  region  of  the  un- 
known. How  sad  to  have  given  your  heart  to  some- 
thing that  God  has  not  willed,  which  he  did  not 
will  even  at  the  moment  of  your  unreserved  surren- 
der !  Let  us  keep  the  passion  of  our  souls  for  causes 
whose  triumph  is  not  doubtful ;  and,  with  each 
of  us,  let  the  object  of  ambition  be  to  deserve  suc- 
cess, rather  than  to  obtain  it. 

He  who  works  with  any  other  end  than  this,  may 
regret  his  efforts  even  if  he  succeed.  He,  on  the 
contrary,  who  works  independently  of  all  partial, 
possible,  contingent  aims,  in  a  general  way,  —  doing 
each  hour  the  good  whidi  comes  to  hand,  expressing 
only  what  he  feels  to  be  true,  supporting  only  what 
he  believes  to  be  just,  such  an  one  seems  to  take 
thought  but  for  to-day  ;  but,  in  reality,  he  is  working 
for  eternity.  Schiller  says,  in  a  noble  verse,  "  He 
who  does  good  in  his  own  time,  has  wrought  for  the 


CHRISTIANITY,  PROGRESS,  AND   CIVILIZATION.    139 

ages."  Few  things  in  this  world  are  accomplished 
after  a  direct  and  absolute  fashion.  More  people  are 
hit  by  ricochet  than  by  direct  aim ;  and  a  random 
shot  finds  its  mark.  Let  truth,  justice,  and  charity 
pervade  the  heart,  and  the  atmosphere  will  be  per- 
fumed far  and  wide. 

We  take  great  thought  for  others,  if  we  but  watch 
over  our  own  rectitude,  fortify  the  soul,  and  purify 
it  of  all  venom,  all  weakness,  all  irritation,  all  inter- 
nal susceptibility,  and  all  fear  of  man.  Under  these 
conditions  the  good  work  is  in  danger  of  being  its 
own  reward ;  but  what  matter  ?  Of  the  seeds  that 
are  flung  to  the  winds,  are  there  not  many  which  will 
germinate  far,  very  far,  from  the  stem  that  bore 
them? 

Slavery,  for  example.  Christianity  has  no  need  to 
ordain  its  abolition, — it  inspires  it ;  and  that  is  enough 
for  the  man  who  would  be  governed  by  the  spirit  of 
Christ.  It  is  the  imperfect  reception  of  Christianity 
in  the  soul  which  allows  slavery  to  continue ;  and 
truth  has  made  no  progress  unless  human  bondage 
has  been  rendered  impossible  by  its  advance.  To 
combat  slavery  solely  from  a  philanthropic  point  of 
view,  is  too  often  to  lose  one's  labor,  for  lust  and  cu- 
pidity mount  guard  over  the  system  ;  but  to  encour- 
age, develop,  and  stimulate  the  moral  element  most 
antagonistic  to  human  bondage,  is  to  accelerate  the 
chances  of  emancipation,  and  to  multiply  them  a 
hundred-fold. 


140  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

The  fact  is,  that  civilization  lives,  and  has  lived, 
only  on  Christianity  ;  follows  it  afar  off,  and  one  day, 
perhaps,  will  be  shaped  upon  its  model :  but  weak- 
ness, poverty,  and  obscurity  cannot  hasten  that  day, 
save  by  the  sacred  hope  they  cherish ,  and  by  repeated 
acts  in  conformity  with  the  Christian  spirit.  Ele- 
mentary notions  of  faith  have  often  sufficed  to  raise 
man  to  the  highest  moral  dignity ;  and  what  faith 
does  in  this  respect,  faith  alone  can  do.  All  that  ap- 
pears without,  has  had  its  beginning  within  us ;  and, 
virtually,  nothing  can  change  in  human  institutions, 
if  our  hearts  be  not  changed. 

Another  and  equal  benefit  of  Christianity  is,  that  it 
achieves  nothing  by  shocks,  nor  ever  advances  but  to 
retire.  All  that  it  has  dictated  or  established  in  this 
world  has  been  done  without  violence.  The  true 
need  of  a  people  or  an  individual  is  deeply  rooted ; 
and  progress  is  slow  in  proportion  to  the  inherent 
force.  Progress,  however  vast,  when  not  provoked 
by  human  passion,  is  never  cruel  in  its  advent,  nor 
destructive  in  its  advance.  Every  thing  bends  to 
it :  resistance  is  gradually  weakened ;  and  it  adapts 
itself  naturally  to  those  great  events  which  have 
become  necessary  and  opportune.  It  is  only  when 
the  will  of  man  is  rashly  and  prematurely  inter- 
posed, that  commotion  and  ravage  begin. 

Nature,  too,  like  all  else  here  below,  is  subjected 
to  the  law  of  death  ;  and  has  her  revolutions,  her  de- 
cadence, her  progress.  When  it  becomes  necessary 


CHRISTIANITY,  PROGRESS,  AND    CIVILIZATION.    141 

for  her  to  pronounce  a  final  sentence,  she  initiates  a 
process  of  gradual  decay.  Under  her  watchful  and 
provident  hand,  the  traces  of  ravage  disappear ;  birth 
arises  from  death  ;  and,  even  when  she  makes  ruins, 
she  makes  no  rubbish. 


ON    RESIGNATION. 


COMPILER'S  DEDICATION. 
To  COUNT  ALBERT  DE  RESSEGUIER  AND  PRINCE  AGUSTAN  GALIT- 

ZIN,   WITH  THE   GRATEFUL  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

OF  A.  DE  FALLOUX. 


COMPILER'S  PREFACE. 

reader  is  already  aware  that  no  part  of 
•*•     what  Madame   Swetchine  wrote  was  destined 
for  publicity,  but  I  think  the  statement  should  be 
repeated  to  those  who  are  about  to  commence  the 
perusal  of  this  genuine  Treatise  on  Resignation. 

Nowhere  has  that  incomparable  soul  revealed  itself 
more  fully  than  in  the  majority  of  the  ensuing  pages. 
The  finest  observation  of  earthly  things  here  shines 
side  by  side  with  the  anticipated  peace  of  heaven ; 
and  strokes  worthy  of  La  Bruy£re  abound  together 
with  flights  worthy  of  St.  Augustine.  The  faculty 
of  living  at  once  the  life  of  the  world  and  the  life  of 
God,  and  the  power  of  passing  without  effort  from 
one  sphere  to  the  other,  was  never  displayed  in  a 
form  more  affecting  and  original,  more  fascinating 
and  more  instructive.  One  may  say,  in  a  word,  to 


COMPILER'S  PREFACE.  143 

those  who  knew  Madame  Swetchine,  that  here  they 
will  find  the  whole  of  her. 

Unfortunately  this  work  is  but  a  fragment.  None 
may  attempt  to  finish  it  in  its  author's  stead.  Certain 
transitions  are  wanting ;  some  highly  spiritual  points 
will  seem,  it  may  be,  imperfectly  elaborated  or  illus- 
trated. It  is  therefore  important  to  remember  that 
Madame  Swetchine,  who  gave  vent  to  her  thoughts 
and  emotions  merely  for  the  sake  of  satisfying  and 
enlightening  her  conscience,  gave  herself  no  uneasi- 
ness about  introducing  the  minds  of  others  gradually 
to  her  own  point  of  view. 

We  read  awhile  ago,  that  w  writing  in  pencil  is 
like  speaking  in  a  low  voice." l  It  will  convey  a  just 
idea  of  the  strictly  private  purpose  of  this  work  to 
state,  that  more  than  half  the  unfinished  manuscript 
is  written  with  a  pencil. 

ALFRED  DE  FALLOUX. 

Chap.  1,  No.  74,  of  the  "  Thoughts." 


ON  RESIGNATION. 


"  In  voluntate  tua,  Domine,  universa  sunt  posita,  et  non  est  qui 
possit  resistere  voluntati  tua3,  tu  enim  fecisti  omnia,  ccelum  et  terram 
et  universa  quae  coeli  ambitu  continental*.  Dominus  universorum 
tu  es." — ESTHER  ix.  11. 

CHAPTER    I. 

ON   RESIGNATION   APART   FROM   CHRISTIANITY. 

RESIGNATION  is  one  of  the  virtues  with  which 
Christianity  has  endowed  the  world, — not  that  the 
human  soul  did  not  contain  it  from  the  beginning, 
along  with  all  good  and^  evil  principles  ;  but  it  is 
only  by  the  light  of  revelation  that  it  displays  the 
impress  of  that  character  of  freedom,  love,  persua- 
siveness, and  power,  which  the  saints,  the  sages  of 
Christendom,  have  shown  us  it  can  wear. 

Man  has  always  suffered,  always  seen  his  wishes 
crossed,  always  fought  Destiny  with  forces  more 
or  less  unequal.  Yet,  though  necessarily  vanquished 
in  many  cases,  in  respect  of  having  to  yield  to  some 
external  pressure,  man  remains,  at  the  bottom  of 
his  heart,  master  of  the  conditions  of  his  defeat,  and, 
by  that  law  of  moral  freedom  which  governs  his 
interior  life,  he  is  sure  of  being  able  to  escape  any 


ON    RESIGNATION.  145 

volition  but  his  own.  To  yield  or  to  defy,  to  resist 
or  to  submit,  to  adore  or  to  deny,  are  so  many  ways 
which  remain  open  to  him.  What  decides  his  choice 
is  simply  the  idea  that  he  forms  of  the  power  that 
governs  him,  according  as  he  conceives  it  intelligent 
or  blind,  friendly  or  hostile,  implacable  or  impassi- 
ble. An  instinctive  feeling  warns  us  that  mere  force 
has  no  moral  element,  and  that  none  but  a  spiritual 
law  can  be  authoritative  to  us  ;  and  the  will  within 
us  follows  the  modifications  which  our  opinions  and 
beliefs  undergo,  and  reacts  at  the  same  time  upon 
the  impressions  it  receives  ;  resisting  them  even  when 
they  are  rooted  doubly  —  and  how  strongly  !  —  in 
nature  and  in  habit. 

The  first  religious  system  which  presents  itself 
to  our  thought  is  that  of  Greece,  so  ingenious  in 
its  fables,  with  whose  mythology  we  are  familiar- 
ized by  our  earliest  studies. 

In  examining  the  influence  exerted  by  that  system 
upon  the  human  will,  we  are  first  struck  by  that 
sombre  deity  which,  hovering  in  sovereign  might 
above  the  personified  passions  who  peopled  Olympus, 
revealed  itself  only  by  arbitrary  and  irrevocable  judg- 
ments. The  true  god,  the  Master  of  the  gods,  even 
of  him  who  usurped  the  name  of  the  supreme  god, 
was  Fate,  —  Fate  in  its  profound  blindness,  and  in 
all  the  cynicism  of  its  capricious  and  tyrannical  de- 
crees. Jupiter,  who  shaped  and  regulated  a  world 

7 


146  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

which  he  had  not  created,  and  who  realized  no 
scheme  that  we  can  grasp,  presented  himself  to 
man  neither  as  a  legislator  nor  as  a  judge.  He  had 
set  in  motion  the  elements  extracted  from  chaos, 
with  a  careless  hand ;  and  evil,  whose  nature  and 
origin  remained  insoluble  problems,  incurred  no  an- 
imadversions from  him.  The  action  of  Jove  on  the 
events  of  the  world  was  no  more  free  than  his  intent 
in  its  formation  had  been  a  moral  one.  His  very 
will  obeyed  the  irrevocable  decrees  emanating  from 
a  power  whose  essence  was  wrapped  in  profound 
mystery.  Blind  force  was  everywhere ;  the  author- 
ity which  God  exercises  over  man  by  direct  and 
explicit  commandments,  nowhere. 

Under  the  law  of  a  brilliant  Polytheism,  which 
forgot  nothing  but  reverence  for  the  gods,  and  pity 
for  human  nature,  we  see  the  most  advanced  and 
intellectual  people  on  earth,  in  whom  the  yearning 
for  right  and  justice  should  have  been  stimulated 
afresh  by  its  very  development,  persisting  in  a  system 
which  banished  even  wisdom  and  freedom  from  the 
heavens.  And  when  such  gods,  in  perpetual  war- 
fare with  the  conscience  of  mankind,  bowed  before 
that  Fate  whose  blindness  drove  reason  to  despair, 
the  desire  of  man  could  discover  nothing  above  it, 
neither  law  nor  light  nor  help.  He  beheld  himself 
from  that  moment  helplessly  given  over  to  the  al- 
ternative of  an  insensate  struggle  or  a  bitter  and 
abject  despondency.  Thus  in  the  pictures  which 


ON    RESIGNATION.  147 

antiquity  has  left  us  of  man  contending  with  mis- 
fortune, we  see,  with  a  few  illustrious  exceptions,  only 
the  rigidity  of  pride,  or  the  intoxication  born  of 
sensual  pleasure.  Ajax  or  Epicurus,  —  these  are  the 
two  extremes,  to  one  of  which  grief  could  hardly 
help  but  lead,  according  as  man  aimed  at  fortitude 
or  insensibility. 

As  religious  beliefs  were  weakened  among  the 
Greeks,  they  began  to  resolve  themselves  into  sys- 
tems of  philosophy.  That  of  the  Porch  exalted 
more  than  any  other  the  might  of  the  will,  striving 
to  show  it  triumphant  even  in  its  useless  resistance 
to  the  decrees  of  Destiny ;  a  vain  pretence,  which 
resulted  only  in  a  show  of  chimerical  impassibility 
and  a  lying  negation  of  sorrow. 

Mahometan  fatalism — which,  like  all  Islamism, 
was  a  corruption  of  true  principles  —  perverted  resig- 
nation. The  world,  in  the  eyes  of  the  followers  of 
Mahomet,  was  not,  as  to  the  pagan,  governed  by  a 
blind  divinity.  But,  while  recognizing  a  free  and 
intelligent  First  Cause,  —  a  spiritual  God,  by  whom 
all  things  were  made,  — they  conceived  all  events  to 
be  so  irrevocably  determined  in  his  breast,  that,  on 
the  one  hand,  God  fettered  his  own  movements,  and 
lost  even  the  right  to  relent ;  and,  on  the  other,  he 
stripped  mankind  of  every  vestige  of  moral  freedom. 

From  this  point  of  view,  God  effaces  no  sentence  of 
his  to  make  room  for  a  new ;  and  the  word  of  Pilate 


148  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

is  of  constant  and  universal  force,  "  What  I  have 
written,  I  have  written." 

A  supple  instrument  in  the  hands  of  an  ardent  and 
able  chief,  Islamism  seized  on  the  passive  instincts  of 
the  orient,  gave  to  the  principle  of  blind  submission  all 
that  activity  which  was  withdrawn  from  the  mind  and 
the  heart,  and  turned  that  subrnissiveness  in  the  direc- 
tion of  warlike  fanaticism.  The  belief  in  a  sentence 
which  had  fixed  beforehand  the  unknown  future,  ren- 
dering all  precautions  useless,  armed  the  Mussulmans 
with  an  indomitable  courage,  which  was  still  further 
stimulated  by  the  doctrine  that  all  who  met  death, 
sword  in  hand,  obtained  salvation. 

This  belief,  and  all  the  indulgences  offered  to  the 
sensual  nature,  were  the  principal  elements  in  that 
success  of  Islamism,  which  had  well  nigh  been 
crowned  by  the  material  conquest  of  the  world.  Ev- 
erywhere, save  where  warlike  fanaticism  had  to  shield 
religious  fanaticism,  Mahometanism  bore  its  proper 
fruit.  It  extinguished  moral  activity  in  the  double 
sleep  of  idleness  and  license ;  and,  beginning  with 
improvidence  and  ending  with  indifference,  it  plunged 
the  soul  into  a  lethargic  torpor. 

The  quietism  of  India  —  another  and  equally  dis- 
torted form  of  resignation  —  takes  its  rise  in  a  subtle 
and  fundamental  error,  —  in  a  Pantheism  which  con- 
founds all  substances  and  confuses  all  relations.  The 
human  soul  is  there  considered,  not  as  a  creation  of 


ON    RESIGNATION.  149 

the  Most  High,  but  as  a  part  of  him,  as  the  spark  is 
a  part  of  the  fire  whence  it  issues.  We  can  under- 
stand how,  upon  this  hypothesis,  man  becomes  the 
legitimate  end  of  his  own  being ;  and  that  a  state 
of  imbecile  satisfaction,  of  internal  and  external  im- 
mobility, would  be  the  one  consequence  of  his  absorp- 
tion into  the  divine  unity. 

Since  every  error,  in  its  transition  from  the  realm 
of  speculation  to  real  life,  becomes  morally  danger- 
ous, the  logical  result  of  this  Indian  dogma  of  ab- 
sorption is  to  restrain  action  and  dispel  the  notion  of 
duty  ;  attacking  human  energy  in  the  twofold  end,  it 
should  pursue, — devotion  to  others  and  detachment 
from  self.  Instead  of  walking  by  the  light  of  vivi- 
fying precepts,  resignation,  with  the  Hindu,  borders 
upon  indolence,  and  seems  to  follow  the  dark  and 
downward  proclivity  of  natural  tendencies.  It  an- 
nuls intelligence,  and  exhausts  its  strength  in  vain 
speculations  and  imaginings,  which  have  no  applica- 
tion save  to  the  useless  practice  of  the  most  fantastic 
puerilities.  Even  in  regard  to  the  gymnosophists  of 
India,  it  would  be  outrageous  to  reproduce  the  trite 
accusations  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy ;  but,  while 
rejecting  these,  at  the  bidding  of  good  sense  and  ex- 
perience, the  astonishing  aberrations  of  these  men  do 
yet  prove  how  poor  a  defence  against  the  most  sense- 
less conclusions  are  principles  independently  just, 
righteous  intentions,  and  an  undeniable  power  of 
inertia,  when  one  is  outside  the  truth. 


150  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHENE. 

If,  then,  a  blind  cause  cannot  incite  to  respectful 
and  loving  submission ;  if  to  deny  the  fact  of  suffer- 
ing is  quite  a  different  thing  from  teaching  ourselves 
to  bear  it;  if  it  is  equally  true  that  submission,  un- 
der the  conditions  which  make  it  a  virtue,  springs 
neither  from  a  fatalism  which  stereotypes  God  and 
the  world ;  nor  from  a  quietism  which  volatilizes  all 
the  truth  it  grasps  >  —  are  we  not  forced  to  conclude 
that  resignation,  as  we  conceive  it,  depends  on  re- 
vealed truth? 

Were  God  and  man  not  understood  as  they  are,  — 
by  the  double  light  of  history  and  doctrine, — the 
power  which  disposes  of  our  destiny  would  always 
have  lacked  the  moral  character  of  authority,  and 
servile  fear  would  never  have  yielded  its  place  to  filial 
reverence.  The  single  fact  of  redemption,  in  its 
double  aspect  of  love  and  power,  gives  us  a  deeper 
insight  into  justice,  fitness,  merit,  and  the  real  mean- 
ing of  absolute  submission,  than  all  human  induc- 
tions, all  prudent  calculations,  and  all  the  abstract 
demonstrations  and  vague  apperceptions  of  a  hollow 
theosophy. 

No  vague,  impersonal  God  whatever,  who  wills  to 
reign  unknown  beyond  the  suns,  can  exercise  any 
authority  over  man  abandoned  to  himself,  and  igno- 
rant at  once  of  his  greatness  and  his  nothingness.  To 
create  within  us  a  steady,  tender,  patient  submis- 
sion, it  is  needful  that  the  prayer  addressed  to  God 
by  a  distinguished  saint — "  Noveriin  te,  noverim 


ON   RESIGNATION.  151 

me  " —  should  already  have  been  heard  in  the  depths 
of  our  being.  It  is  needful  that  God,  so  distorted 
and  misunderstood  by  ignorance  and  unbelief,  should 
be  actually  present  to  the  eyes  of  man,  as  the  living 
God  who  evoked  ourselves,  and  all  things  else,  from 
naught,  and  stooped  to  repair  his  work  after  the  fall. 
It  is  needful  that  man  should  go  back  through  the 
ages,  and  see  unrolled  the  magnificent  panorama  of 
most  impressive  mercies,  and  God  never  forsaking 
his  own,  even  when  he  seems  to  have  'abandoned 
them.  It  is  needful,  above  all  things,  that  faith 
should  show  us  in  the  heavens  the  God  who  has 
spoken  to  our  souls  ;  the  good  God,  the  divine  Son  of 
Man, — that  slain  Emanuel,  who  came  to  teach  us 
all  things,  to  live,  to  die,  to  remain  with  us. 

In  default  of  this  divine  succor,  we  may  doubtless 
make  our  courage  a  point  of  honor,  and  present  a 
calm  front  to  the  blows  of  Fate ;  but  Christian 
resignation  is  not  confined  to  apparent  fortitude,  an 
unaltered  countenance,  and  isolated  acts  :  it  should 
penetrate  all  the  emotions  before  they  are  externally 
betrayed.  This  resignation  is  rather  the  free  expres- 
sion of  a  regenerated  and  victorious  will,  than  an 
effort  of  virtue  :  it  is  far  more  a  situation  of  the 
soul,  than  the  adherence  to  a  course  of  action  con- 
sidered and  adopted  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  It 
cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  the  permanence  of 
such  effects  presupposes,  as  an  essential  element,  a 
living,  enlightened,  active  faith,  —  such  a  faith  as 


152  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Christianity  alone  can  produce,  because  it  alone, 
by  its  admirable  distribution  of  light  and  shade, 
shows  itself  armed  equally  with  justice  and  with  mer- 
cy, and  marvellously  watchful  of  all  that  passes  on 
the  earth.  It  belongs  to  the  wisdom  which  preceded 
and  prepared  all  things,  to  draw  us  to  itself  while 
leaving  our  desires  all  free ;  and,  if  our  God  did  not 
bear  the  name  of  Providence,  our  hearts  could  never 
have  conceived  of  true  and  lasting  resignation. 
• 

No  system  of  religion  has  proclaimed  more  loudly 
than  Christianity  the  freedom  of  man.  Implied  even 
in  that  word  of  the  Almighty,  "  Let  us  make  man  in 
our  image,"  —  it  is  equally  attested  by  the  oldest 
human  fact  to  which  we  can  recur,  —  original  sin, 
which  is,  alas  !  only  a  vast  and  criminal  exercise 
of  our  freedom. 

If  man  had  not  a  distinct  personality,  —  an  individ- 
ual existence,  —  the  mind  to  know  and  the  faculty  to 
choose,  —  if  he  had  not  a  sphere  of  action,  and  a 
safe  asylum  in  his  own  conscience,  where  would  be 
his  resemblance  to  God? 

If  man  were  not  free,  how  could  he  be  guilty? 
how  could  he  have  crossed  the  designs  of  God  and 
consummated  his  own  misfortune?  Without  liberty, 
there  is  no  responsibility :  without  responsibility, 
no  act  would  bear  a  moral  impress ;  and  conse- 
quently justice  in  the  administration  of  reward  and 
punishment  would  be  impossible. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  153 

The  very  fact  that  liberty  is  the  characteristic  of 
his  nature  distinguishes  man  from  the  rest  of  crea- 

o 

tion,  and  invests  him  with  a  special,  personal  life, 
which  renders  him,  under  grace,  the  master  and 
artist  of  his  own  destiny.  It  is  by  his  free  will  that 
man,  placed  midway  between  good  and  evil,  can 
become  guilty  or  meritorious.  It  is  because  the  will 
of  man  can  protest,  and  resist  even  while  yielding  to 
the  law  which  internally  it  rejects,  that  his  adhe- 
rence has  a  meaning  and  his  consent  a  value,  —  and 
that  his  choice,  whatever  it  be,  has  weight  in  the 
balance. 

But  this  freedom,  which  in  God  is  absolute,  has 
merely  been  munificently  conceded  to  man.  The 
primal  attribute  of  his  kingship  over  the  world  can 
be  but  a  primal  servitude  so  far  as  he,  from  whom  he 
holds  it,  is  concerned.  God  has  placed  man  at  the 
summit  of  creation,  that  he  might  bring  its  rays  to 
a  focus,  and  that  his  worship  might  thence  acquire 
more  unity  and  value.  He  created  man  free,  so  as 
to  elevate  the  character  of  his  dependence,  and  make 
it  a  merit  in  him  to  confess  it.  However  great  man 
may  be,  he  has  received  all ;  and  each  one  of  his 
privileges  creates  a  perpetual  obligation. 

To  the  sense  of  this  freedom,  which  is  common  to 
all  men,  the  Christian  adds  the  knowledge  of  its  uses. 
His  eye  measures  the  chasm  opened  by  the  fall.  He 
sees  the  utter  impossibility  of  filling  it  without  grace. 

7* 


154  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

These  two  terms,  man  created  free  and  man  fallen, 
form  the  original  groundwork  of  one  and  the  same 
story  :  their  revelation  shows  us  all  the  mind  of  God 
and  all  our  own  weakness  ;  and  from  them  spring 
two  virtues,  which  belong  peculiarly  to  the  Christian, 
—  humility,  whereof  the  ancient  world  never  heard; 
and  submission,  never  to  be  recognized  under  the 
disguises  of  error. 

Since  pride  caused  the  fall  of  man,  ought  not 
humility  to  reinstate  him?  There  exists  a  correla- 
tion, secret  and  strong,  between  that  freedom  which 
compromised  all  our  rights,  and  that  resignation, 
which,  trusting  to  the  means  of  reparation,  restores 
man  to  the  rank  whence  he  should  never  have  fallen. 
All  Christian  morality  is  the  logical  expression  of 
the  state  in  which  freedom  and  the  fall  have  placed 
mankind.  This  ethical  system  is  a  vast  network, 
which  embraces  the  whole  of  human  nature.  All 
its  parts  are  identical,  despite  diverse  proportions  : 
they  bear  the  same  impress,  down  even  to  those  re- 
mote deductions,  in  which  we  can  hardly  recognize 
the  substance  of  the  precept,  under  the  ethereal  and 
sublimated  form  of  the  decree. 

Among  these  deductions,  nevertheless,  there  are 
some  which  issue  more  immediately  from  the  womb 
of  the  Christian  doctrine,  and  are,  as  it  were,  its 
first-born  ;  and  humility  and  resignation  claim  these 
honors  of  primogeniture.  These  two  virtues,  in  short, 
not  only  place  in  a  strong  light  the  most  salient  char- 


ON    RESIGNATION.  155 

acteristics  of  Christian  morality,  but  they  initiate  us 
into  its  deepest  and  most  secret  essence ;  and  are  also 
the  effective  methods  whereby  its  highest  and  most 
explicit  teachings  receive  their  full  realization .  Thus , 
while  humility  became  man's  highest  virtue,  as  pride 
had  been  the  principle  of  his  fall,  resignation  volun- 
tarily bound  itself  to  expiate  the  sins  of  freedom. 

Kedemption,  the  work  of  adorable  and  infinite 
pity,  —  all  whose  power  is  concentrated  in  the  self- 
abasement  of  obedience, — shows  us,  next  in  order 
to  the  three  divine  virtues,  humility  and  resigna- 
tion. Humiliation  and  suffering, — this  is  the  royal 
way  in  which  our  Lord  precedes  us.  Humiliation 
and  suffering  constitute,  under  grace,  all  the  joy 
of  innocence,  and  all  the  confidence  of  sinful  man. 
From  them  those  lowly  flowers  which  grow  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross  derive  all  their  sweetness. 

Born  in  the  first  dawning  of  light  upon  the  world, 
and  resting  on  the  truths  which  Scripture  and  tra- 
dition have  transmitted  to  us,  resignation,  as  the 
thought  of  the  Christian  conceives  it,  has  nothing  in 
common  with  the  paths  trodden  by  the  wisdom  of 
paganism.  How  could  Christianity  fail  to  pronounce 
Stoicism  false  and  self-contradictory  in  its  true,  ra- 
tional, inmost  meaning?  How  could  it  fail  to  find 
the  denial  of  sorrow  specially  absurd,  in  a  system 
which  gives  us  no  advantage  over  grief,  because  it 
offsets  no  hope  against  it. 


156  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Christianity,  the  work  of  Him  who  made  nature, 
does  not  thus  contravene  nature's  laws,  not  even  by 
the  introduction  of  a  supernatural  element.  Chris- 
tianity does  not  claim  to  suppress  grief,  but  it  puri- 
fies and  consoles  by  sanctifying  it ;  justifies  it  in 
our  eyes  by  showing  us  its  profound  relations  with 
our  actual  needs ;  and  softens  it,  as  nothing  else  can, 
by  allowing  glimpses  of  the  bliss  of  which  it  may  one 
day  make  us  worthy.  Truth,  alas  !  can  never  dis- 
avow sorrow,  —  she  who  came  to  sound  its  depths 
and  show  its  purpose,  and  who  also  knows  so  well 
the  dignity  to  which  it  lifts  the  soul  of  man, — 
and  the  fruit  it  should  bear  therein.  In  lieu  of 
childishly  denying  its  existence,  she  strips  it  of  all 
that  could  mislead  or  corrupt,  and  transforms  it  by 
the  secret  of  a  divine  alchemy.  To  man,  working 
in  God's  name,  belongs  transformation,  but  not 
creation  or  annihilation. 

In  that  system,  which  recognizes  a  fatal  linking 
of  all  effects  to  their  causes,  the  Christian  sees  a 
guilty  blow  aimed  at  the  power  and  freedom  of  the 
Supreme  Being.  The  shapeless  notion  of  a  Creator 
who  is  yet  absent  from  his  work,  of  an  incomprehen- 
sible decree,  promulgated  once  for  all,  and  entailing- 
endless  and  inflexible  consequences, — is  fit  to  para- 
lyze man  with  terror,  and  strip  him  not  merely  of 
hope,  but  of  faith  in  the  celestial  pity. 

Descending  into  the  realm  of  action,  the  doctrine 
of  fatalism  makes  ravages  no  less  deadly,  by  depriv- 


ON    RESIGNATION.  157 

ing  human  activity  of  all  real  stimulus.  For  why, 
indeed,  should  we  act,  why  struggle  with  sloth,  in- 
ertia, and  levity,  if  our  efforts  are  vain,  and  nothing 
within  or  without  us  can  be  modified  ;  if  God  expects 
nothing  of  us  ;  if  it  is  not  true  that,  free  and  rational 
agents  as  we  are,  God,  by  giving  us  his  law  in  our 
hearts,  has  revealed  his  thought  to  us,  and  deigned 
to  take  us  for  his  co-laborers  ;  if  it  is  not  true,  in 
short,  that,  upon  this  vast  stage  of  the  present,  — 
which  projects  its  shadow  upon  eternity,  —  we  have 
God's  work  to  carry  on,  our  own  talent  to  improve, 
a  reward  to  have  earned  at  the  close  of  every  day  ? 

Hypocritical  attempts  to  liken  Christian  resigna- 
tion to  Mussulman  fatalism  will  never  succeed,  do 
what  men  will  in  the  way  of  confounding  dispositions 
marked  by  the  most  distinctive  symptoms.  The 
Turk  takes  the  eve  for  the  morrow.  With  him  inert 
submission  precedes  action  in  lieu  of  following  it,  and 
weakens,  if  it  does  not  suppress  it.  The  will,  in  its 
imbecile  adolescence,  would  shrink  from  attaining 
virility.  Outside  of  truth,  the  will  is  a  suspected 
force,  and  is  enchained  or  imbruted,  in  default  of  the 
power  to  control  it.  The  Christian  is  less  timid.  His 
resignation,  active  and  intelligent  to  the  end,  is  but 
the  last  term  of  his  very  activity,  —  the  final  conse- 
quent of  all  the  attempts  he  has  made  and  relin- 
quished. It  is  only  after  having  displayed  all  his 
resources,  and  brought  all  his  powers  into  play,  that 
the  Christian  enters  upon  the  rest  of  perfect  submis- 


158  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

sion  ;  a  conqueror,  whatever  be  the  issue  of  the  strife, 
since  the  victory  of  conscience  is  the  accomplishment 
of  duty,  —  the  completion  of  the  entire  task. 

It  would  be  equally  unjust  to  attempt  to  discover 
aught  of  Christian  resignation  in  the  false  pretences 
of  Indian  quietism.  Despite  all,  that  tender  abandon- 
ment to  the  divine  will  which  Christianity  bears  with- 
in, that  propensity  to  unite  itself  thereto,  that  joy 
in  self-denial,  the  sentiments  to  which  it  gives  birth 
have  naught  in  common  with  the  absorption  of  all 
personality  and  the  haughty  pretence  to  a  blasphe- 
mous identity.  Christianity  perfects  human  virtue 
by  the  action  of  its  divine  principle  ;  subjugates  mat- 
ter and  resists  its  usurpations,  and  yet  causes  it 
to  participate  in  the  sanctification  of  the  soul.  Its 
reverence  for  realities  guards  it  against  puerile 
dreams ;  against  the  pious  chimeras  with  which  the 
imagination  teems  ;  against  all  illusions,  however  holy 
their  source  may  appear,  and  however  innocent  their 
effects.  It  clothes  the  most  subtile  thoughts  in  sen- 
sible symbols,  ever  forcing  us,  like  new  Antajuses,  to 
recruit  our  strength  by  touching  the  substance  of 
Deity. 

The  perfect  rectitude  of  Christian  resignation  has 
been  quite  as  strongly  menaced  in  the  very  bosom  of 
the  Catholic  Church.  First,  by  determinism,  —  a 
system  which  derives  its  name  from  the  succession  of 


ON    RESIGNATION.  159 

determining  causes,  —  an  obscure  and  inconspicuous 
error,  though  it  dares  not  go  as  far  in  predestination 
as  certain  modern  sects.  .  .  .  The  fate  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  quietism  is  much  better  known.  It 
came  clothed  in  fair  colors,  under  the  imposing  and 
persuasive  authority  of  dear  and  reverend  names. 
But  the  brightest  vesture  cannot  hide  error  from  the 
vigilance  of  Israel's  sentinels  ;  and  for  them  to  signal 
the  reef  is  to  preserve  therefrom  all  that  deserve  the 
name  of  faithful.  .  .  . 

We  have  seen  what  Christian  resignation  is  not. 
Let  us  now  attempt  to  tell  something  of  what  it  is. 

The  definitions  of  faith  are  not  the  only  ones  over 
which  the  Church  exercises  her  sovereign  dictation. 
She  is  equally  authoritative  in  morals ;  and  doc- 
trine comprises  both.  The  Church,  then,  is  at  once 
orthodoxy  in  belief  and  infallible  rectitude  in  moral 
ideas.  The  creed,  translated  and  transferred  to  the 
domain  of  action,  gives  moral  precepts  their  value 
and  meaning ;  guarding  the  truths  it  teaches  alike 
from  narrow  interpretation  and  undue  extension,  and 
from  every  deviation  and  misplacement,  whereby  the 
order  of  their  importance  might  be  reversed.  God, 
who  excludes  nothing  because  he  embraces  all,  causes 
all  simultaneities  to  march  abreast.  He  has  made 
space  for  every  thing,  — in  nature,  in  the  duality  of 
man,  and  in  that  spiritual  world  also,  where  all  vir- 
tues, as  well  as  all  verities,  are  reconciled  one  with 
another.  Religion  presents  them  to  us  in  the  light 


160  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

of  sisters,  who  have  an  equal  right  to  the  paternal 
inheritance,  who  are  destined  always  to  support,  and 
never  to  injure  one  another ;  no  one  of  whom  can 
lawfully  enlarge  her  sphere  to  the  prejudice  of  the 
others,  the  integrity  of  each  having  been  placed  in 
safe  keeping  of  all. 

Thus  does  Christian  resignation  pursue  her  way 
over  the  reefs  of  brute  fatalism  and  Indian  quietism, 
favoring  no  excess,  and  defending  virtue  from  all 
encroachment  even,  as  well  as  from  all  irregularity. 
Fair  enough  to  desire  only  her  own  proper  beauty ; 
strong  enough  to  confine  herself  to  her  own  limits  ; 
at  once  lofty  and  lowly  enough  to  treat  directly  with 
God;  free,  living,  strong,  generous,  calm,  serene, 
and  incomparably  worthy,  Resignation  wears  all  these 
characters  in  succession,  or  presents  them  mingled  in 
one  sublime  reflection. 

Yes  :  she  is  proud  and  worthy,  this  Resignation, 
of  the  bowed  head  and  bended  knee.  We  may  not 
deprive  her  of  the  lofty  place  which  voluntary  obe- 
dience assures  to  freedom.  That  cry  of  the  Archangel 
Michael,  "The  Lord  rebuke  thee,"  is — to  quote  an 
eloquent  writer  —  the  noblest  wish  that  one  creature 
may  form  in  favor  of  another.  "  The  Lord  rebuke 
thee  ; "  and  tenderness  and  power  shall  accompany 
the  rebuke,  and  his  yoke  shall  free  thee  from  every 
other. 

Yes  :  resignation  is  free  ;  for  there  is  no  more  sov- 
ereign act  than  that  whereby  we  resign  our  freedom  I 


ON   RESIGNATION.  161 

Resignation  is  living  and  glorious  :  living,  for  there 
is  more  life  in  the  death  of  him  who ,  according  to  the 
gospel,  dies  to  himself,  than  in  the  majority  of  those 
shadowy,  ghostlike  beings,  whom  conflict,  devotion, 
and  sacrifice  have  never  ennobled ;  glorious,  for  the 
Christian  resigns  himself  as  Abraham  obeyed.  The 
revealed  word  has  taught  him  all  things  ;  and  its 
teaching,  either  in  the  form  of  speech  or  tradition, 
encounters  him  again  and  quite  as  intelligibly,  in  the 
events  which  God,  never  rejecting  the  aid  of  our 
weakness,  chooses  for  the  manifestation  of  his  will. 
The  conducting  wire,  which  the  faithful  holds  in  his 
hands,  is  too  brightly  illumined  for  him  to  be  troubled 
by  doubts  on  questions  of  duty  ;  and  as  he  is  not 
required  to  give  an  account  of  the  chances  of  success, 
but  merely  of  the  rectitude  of  his  every  step,  when- 
ever action  is  constrained  to  pause,  submission  comes 
in  its  stead. 

Finally,  resignation  is  calm  and  serene,  with  that 
visible  serenity,  whose  flame  is  within  and  which 
constitutes  the  joy  of  virtue.  Resignation  lives  on 
reverence  and  on  trust ;  but  it  has  also  a  keen  and 
loving  glance,  by  virtue  of  which  the  adorable  strata- 
gems which  a  pitying  God  employs  to  reconcile  men 
to  his  purposes,  are  rendered  clear  to  its  eyes. 

Thus  the  night  of  our  exile  has  shades,  but  it  has 
no  darkness.  While  its  action  goes  on  and  its  issue 
is  undecided,  strength  and  moral  activity  receive  their 
complete  development ;  but  as  soon  as  the  conflict 


162  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

ceases,  and  an  aspect  of  irrevocability  proclaims  the 
divine  permission  or  sanction,  the  Christian  bows  to 
these  ;  and  his  will,  uniting  with  the  Supreme  Will, 
takes  its  place,  to  use  the  magnificent  words  of  Bos- 
suet,  among  the  powers  of  God. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   JUSTICE     AND     PROPRIETY     OF     RESIGNATION. ITS 

DIFFERENT    DEGREES. 

GOD  has  willed  that  nothing  on  this  earth  should 
be  either  guilty  or  meritorious,  except  the  human 
will.  That  only  assumes  responsibility  by  living  for 
good  or  evil  ends.  We  may  even  say,  with  no  lack 
of  precision,  that  there  are  but  two  powers  in  the 
world,  —  God  and  human  volition.  Where  they  are 
in  unison,  it  is  a  glorious  and  blessed  thing  for  this 
earth.  When  they  are  at  variance,  a  state  of  revolt 
ensues,  with  all  its  accompanying  chastisements,  con- 
stituting the  height  of  misfortune  for  the  creature. 
But,  in  either  case,  God  is  glorified. 

From  the  moment  in  which  man  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  abyss  into  which  the  founder  of 
the  race  has  plunged  his  descendants ;  from  the 
moment  when  he  felt  the  fatal  germ  of  evil  growing 
within  him,  and  comprehended  that  this  germ  was 
overtopping  his  own  will,  it  became  his  duty  to 


ON   RESIGNATION.  163 

embrace  that  expiation  which  had  become  his  sole 
means  of  rehabilitation,  and  the  pledge  of  his  recon- 
cilement with  God. 

The  rapidity  with  which  he  is  borne  onward, 
blinds  and  deafens  the  sinner, —  and  what  reasonable 
man  does  not  feel  himself  to  be  such?  —  but  the 
moment  he  has  recovered  his  self-possession,  pun- 
ishment becomes,  in  his  eyes,  the  indefeasible  right 
of  offended  justice,  and  begets  in  him  a  pious 
hope. 

God  has  but  one  method  of  punishing,  —  abandon- 
ment. He  meditates  in  silence  on  his  severities ; 
when  he  speaks,  it  is  to  offer  pardon  after  chastise- 
ment, and  his  most  formidable  threats  are  warnings. 
God  chastises,  therefore,  only  that  he  may  give  free 
course  to  his  mercy  ;  and  also,  that  he  may  reduce 
and  make  ready  the  hearts  on  which  he  will  act. 
"  Because  they  have  broken  this  treaty,  I  have  made 
them  feel  my  power,"  saith  the  Lord  ;  but  after  this 
severe  and  cruel  trial,  he  adds,  "I  will  put  my  law 
in  their  inward  parts,  and  write  it  in  their  hearts,  and 
I  will  be  their  God  and  they  shall  be  my  people." 

Is  it  not  evident  that  the  hearts  that  are  softened 
and  subdued  by  affliction  are  destined  to  receive  a 
yet  deeper  impress  of  those  sacred  characters  traced 
by  the  divine  hand? 

Chastisement,  under  the  name  of  sorrow,  compre- 
hends all  the  countless  trials  inflicted  upon  human 
nature.  Suffering  is  unavoidable.  Weakness  might 


164  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

have  been  redeemed  by  strength,  ignorance  by  wisdom, 
poverty  by  riches,  but  only  sorrow  could  be  the  ran- 
som of  sin.  The  details  of  the  passion,  the  agony 
and  death  of  a  God,  which  form  the  salient  points  in 
the  great  drama  of  redemption,  show  us  the  nature 
of  the  means  applicable  to  the  accomplishment  of 


our  regeneration. 


Yet  if  suffering  had  been  only  a  punishment  in 
the  hands  of  God  our  Saviour,  he  could  not  have 
assumed  it  in  his  own  person  once  and  for  all.  He 
would  have  kept  it  in  reserve  for  his  judgments  ;  and, 
preceding  us  in  a  shining  and  serene  path,  he  would 
have  caused  us  to  describe  a  complete  circle  of  bril- 
liant and  useful  developments.  But  the  remedy  in 
this  case  would  not  have  reached  the  root  of  the  evil : 
the  sting  would  not  have  been  extracted,  the  red-hot 
iron  would  not  have  been  applied  to  the  wound. 
Therefore  did  Christ  open  the  royal  way  of  the  cross. 
He  entered  it  before  us,  sparing  himself  in  no  re- 
spect, undergoing  in  his  own  person  all  forms  of 
suffering  and  ignominy,  draining  them  to  their  dregs, 
and  yet  transmitting  them  in  their  full  strength  to  us. 
Expiation  !  How  dear  should  it  be  to  us  !  It  is 
our  Master's  blood,  the  living  trace  of  his  footsteps 
in  the  dust  through  which  we  follow  him,  the  pledge 
of  our  restoration  to  the  paternal  inheritance,  our 
rank  lost  and  regained,  the  turning-point  of  our 
sorrowful  history.  It  is  Calvary,  without  which 
there  would  have  been  no  resurrection. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  165 

The  acceptance  of  suffering  —  that  is  to  say,  sub- 
mission to  the  will  of  God  —  partakes  so  entirely  of 
the  nature  of  that  piety  to  which  have  been  promised 
the  good  things  of  this  life  as  well  as  those  of  the 
life  to  come,  that  it  harmonizes  with  all  the  instincts 
of  a  lofty  nature.  Thus  an  instinct  deeply  engraven 
upon  the  soul  is  solidarity.  But  to  rebel  against  the 
sorrows  of  the  race  is  to  isolate  one's  self  from 
the  rest  of  humanity ;  to  refuse  to  bear  one's  part 
of  the  heavy  sentence  under  which  it  labors,  to 
separate  one's  self  from  one's  brethren,  to  be  in- 
sensible to  the  blows  which  fall  on  them ;  to  choose 
not  to  be  smitten  when  they  are  so,  in  short  to  lose 
the  power  even  of  saying  with  the  poet,  "  Humani 
nihil  a  me  alienum  puto ;  "  for  we  have  but  a  lip- 
sympathy  with  the  lot  which  we  will  not  share. 

This  multiplied  echo  of  all  hearts  that  have  ever 
beat  in  the  heart  that  is  beating  still ;  this  burning 
conviction  that  each  one  of  us  might  have  committed 
the  crimes  committed  by  all ;  this  solidarity  which 
causes  the  heart  to  leap  unceasingly  in  sympathy, 
in  exultation,  in  wrath  or  in  pity  ;  this  sentiment, 
so  strong  when  it  is  merely  natural,  receives  from 
Christianity  a  loftier  life  and  a  very  different  aim. 

What !  when  Abraham  obeys,  when  Job  suffers 
himself  to  be  despoiled,  when  David  bathes  his  sin 
in  his  tears,  and  the  new  Isaac  consummates  his 
sacrifice  upon  Calvary,  shall  we  sinners  revolt  against 
obedience,  poverty,  tears,  or  death?  The  mother  of 


166  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Christ  survived  her  divine  Son,  and  shall  we  not 
endure  to  have  Christ  pierce  us  with  the  same  sword 
of  sorrow?  Ah  !  were  such  our  disposition,  what  a 
threatening  contradiction  would  it  not  receive  from 
the  innumerable  throng  of  martyrs  and  saints,  whose 
lives  were  but  a  paraphrase  of  that  sublime  word  of 
Saint  Theresa,  "  To  suffer  and  to  die  "  ! 

If  events  are  fortuitous,  it  is  plain  that  they  entail 
no  obligation  upon  us ;  and  it  becomes  allowable  for 
us  to  obey  the  humor  of  the  moment  and  yield  to 
those  transports  of  childish  rage  which  endow  brute 
matter  with  sensibility,  and  return  blow  for  blow 
upon  an  offending  object  or  turn  away  from  it  in 
fickle  caprice. 

If  God  does  not  reign,  it  is  quite  evident  that  man 
becomes  the  master  of  all  his  acts,  personifying  law 
in  himself,  and  rejecting  all  that  interferes  with  his 
own  good  pleasure,  as  beyond  the  pale  thereof. 
Therefore,  to  repulse  what  incommodes  himself;  to 
deny  or  calumniate  what  surpasses  ;  to  avert  what 
wounds,  opposes,  or  afflicts  ;  to  crush  what  is  in- 
ferior, —  all  these  things  we  may  much  the  more 
reasonably  expect  that  man  will  do,  as  man  is  more 
consistent  with  himself.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  heart,  while  yet  wrapped  in  its  thick  veil  of  flesh, 
begins  to  catch  glimpses,  under  the  gross  exterior  of 
things,  of  the  mind  which  created  them ;  if  it  per- 
ceives the  ruling  Power  which  preserves  only  because 


ON    RESIGNATION.  107 

it  rules  them ;  if,  especially,  the  evil  days  whereof 
man's  earthly  pilgrimage  is  composed  begin  to  seem 
like  the  prelude  to  an  unending  life, — what  conse- 
quences ensue,  what  teachings  flow  from  these  pri- 
mary truths  !  Then  do  things  begin  to  share  the 
importance,  and,  so  to  speak,  the  intelligence  of  per- 
sons ;  for  they  cease  to  be  in  our  eyes  aught  save 
what  the  eternal  Wisdom  willed  them  to  be  in  the 
order  of  our  salvation.  While,  if  this  Wisdom  be 
once  eliminated  from  the  government  of  the  world, 
it  is  men  that  are  assimilated  to  things,  becoming 
like  these  the  puppets  of  blind  combinations,  whose 
original  impulse  is  lost  in  deep,  thick  darkness. 

Eevelation  alone  teaches  us  to  know  God  and 
ourselves.  Revelation  alone  discovers  the  direction 
of  the  destinies  of  humanity  in  general,  and  our 
own  in  particular  ;  a  double  movement,  magnificently 
symbolized  by  the  annual  and  diurnal  revolutions  of 
the  earth. 

After  following  the  finger  of  God  in  history,  and 
in  the  sensible  prodigies  of  each  one  of  our  lives  ; 
after  receiving  the  sublime  promise  that  not  a  hair  of 
our  heads  shall  fall  without  his  notice,  —  what  more 
do  we  need  ?  Has  not  God  at  once  calmed  all  our 
fears,  and  irrevocably  changed  the  objects  of  our 
regard  and  aversion?  Does  not  an  infallible  word 
like  this  make  us  feel  that  we  are  watched,  guarded, 
protected  by  the  great  sleepless  eye  of  our  Father? 


168  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Within  the  horizon  illuminated  by  its  brightness, 
what  perplexity  is  hopeless,  what  sadness  too  poig- 
nant, what  restraint  annoying,  what  sorrow  greater 
than  we  can  bear?  Does  not  God  himself  take 
measures  to  secure  our  endurance,  by  giving  us  the 
certainty  of  escaping  annihilation,  the  hope  of  avoid- 
ing condemnation,  and  I  know  not  what  delicious  and 
undeserved  presentiment  of  heaven,  as  the  reward  of 
our  languid  efforts,  and  the  sufferings  we  have  so 
justly  incurred? 

In  respect  of  that  eternity  which  we  are  to  win, 
nothing  is  evil  save  what  diverts  us  from  our  supreme 
end ;  nothing  good  save  what  conducts  us  to  it,  were 
it  even  anxiety  or  affliction.  When  the  immortality 
offered  to  man  impresses  itself  vividly  upon  his  con- 
victions, all  the  conditions  of  his  earthly  existence 
are  changed ;  and  the  events  it  brings  forth,  cease 
to  be  in  any  sense  important,  I  had  almost  said  real, 
save  in  their  relation  to  that  end. 

Thus,  then,  man  may  resist,  protest,  deny  his  in- 
most convictions  ;  but,  if  demons  have  not  suggested 
to  him  a  hideous  blasphemy,  if  he  believe,  he  must 
submit;  if  he  yield,  he  must  fall  prostrate.  There 
is  no  medium.  To  choose  his  objects  of  submission ; 
to  check  or  to  suspend  it,  —  is  but  a  kind  of  neutrality 
between  rebellion  and  assent,  a  kind  of  compromise 
between  the  fear  which  checks  complaint,  and  that 
other  weakness  which  cannot  choose  but  endure ;  a 
mere  external  attitude,  which  keeps  the  soul  on 


ON   RESIGNATION.  169 

sufficiently  good  terms  with  what  it  reveres,  but 
none  the  less  leaves  the  will  diseased,  smitten  with 
that  moral  impoverishment  which,  under  the  name 
of  lukewarmness,  God  has  so  severely  condemned. 

Yet  let  us  not  exaggerate,  nor  even  here  anticipate 
the  progress  of  that  grace  which  in  its  invisible  and 
ascendant  march  reveals  to  us  new  horizons  in  suc- 
cession, and  enables  us  to  accomplish  with  ease  the 
most  difficult  undertakings.  Let  us  not  forget  that, 
in  the  celestial  kingdom,  there  is  more  than  one  in- 
habited region,  and  more  than  one  resting-place  on 
the  holy  mountain ;  and  that,  though  the  landmarks 
from  base  to  summit  have  been  immutably  placed  by 
the  very  hands  of  God,  he  does  not  require  the  entire 
route  of  all  his  children.  Virtue  has  its  degrees ; 
and,  as  far  as  man  is  concerned,  its  hierarchy  also. 

An  artificial  human  morality  betrays  its  origin  as 
much  by  its  exaggerations  as  by  its  hiatuses.  Arbi- 
trary in  its  demands,  it  either  exalts  or  neglects  the 
precept,  and  almost  always  extemporizes  it ;  now 
imposing  heroism  by  an  imperious  formula,  and  again 
corrupting  the  moral  law  by  an  impure  alloy.  The 
Catholic  religion,  on  the  contrary,  taught  by  its 
divine  Founder  to  distinguish  the  precept  which  is 
universally  binding,  from  the  advice  which  may  be 
followed  at  option,  puts  its  children  on  their  guard 
not  only  against  laxity,  but  against  those  extrava- 
gances in  the  theory  of  right  which  have  often  been 

8 


170  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

but  a  noble  and  attractive  aspect  of  its  decay.  Res- 
ignation, at  its  point  of  departure,  is  far  distant  from 
that  lofty  height  which  it  may  attain.  Like  the  other 
Christian  virtues,  it  resembles  a  pyramid,  whose  broad 
base  is  the  precept,  but  which  rises  and  contracts  by 
degrees  into  a  mere  point ;  an  image  of  the  perfection 
and  consummation  of  counsel. 

The  first  degree  of  submission  is  reverent  acqui- 
escence in  the  divine  will.  Afterwards,  this  sentiment 
is  transformed  into  a  pious  and  sincere  acceptance, 
whereof  trust  is  the  prime  motor.  The  soul  now 
yields  more  than  she  reasons  ;  seeing  in  Him  who 
imposes  the  trial,  less  the  Creator  who  has  a  right 
to  exact  the  whole,  than  the  adorable  Saviour  who 
preaches  submission  by  his  own  obedience.  In  her 
eyes,  God  has  ceased  to  be  any  thing  but  the  Wisdom 
who  can  neither  deceive  nor  be  deceived,  and  yet  that 
loving  Wisdom  who  sees  in  man  the  masterpiece  of 
his  own  power,  and  has  prepared  all  things  so  as  to 
insure  his  salvation.  .  .  . 

Soon  we  see  the  struggle,  which  is  not  incompatible 
with  this  condition,  fail,  and  fade  away  in  slighter  and 
slighter  oscillations,  in  a  twilight  impenetrable,  yet 
a  thousand  times  penetrated.  Once  started  in  the 
way  of  self-abnegation,  trust,  from  respectful,  be- 
comes filial;  and  the  acquiescence  in  all  that  God 
sends,  passes,  as  it  were,  into  a  holy  habit. 

The  will,  which  acts  only  as  far  as  it  sees,  —  and 
which  sees  clearer  and  farther  in  proportion  to  its 


ON    RESIGNATION.  171 

activity,  —  cannot  be  enlightened  without  having  its 
strength  doubled  by  the  enlargement  of  its  compre- 
hension. It  surmounts  all  obstacles,  and  frees  itself 
from  all  shackles  successively  and  finally  :  as  the  last 
term  of  its  efforts,  it  is  delivered  from  itself.  Light- 
ened of  its  load,  more  intelligent  because  more  inde- 
pendent, fed  by  so  many  mercies,  feeling  that  its  re- 
volt has  been  weak  from  the  first,  conquered  even 
then,  and  now  expiring,  it  reaches  that  blessed  point 
where  we  cease  to  see  aught  save  what  God  wills,  or 
to  desire  aught  that  he  has  not  desired.  Then  only 
it  is,  after  having  thus  overcome  the  world  within 
himself,  that  the  Christian  —  Christ's  noble  free  man 
—  lays  intact  at  the  feet  of  his  Master  the  power 
which  he  has  regained,  and  presents,  in  the  inextrica- 
ble interweaving  of  grace  and  free-will,  the  truest 
assimilation  of  human  nature  to  God. 

Thus,  in  these  different  and  variously  illumined  ele- 
vations, we  have  successively  the  inclination  of  rever- 
ential faith,  the  submission  of  pious  faith,  and  the 
unity  of  victorious  faith,  —  but  always  faith;  since 
faith  is  made  the  soul  of  resignation  for  the  precise 
purpose  of  rendering  it,  in  its  principle  and  effects,  a 
supernatural  virtue,  which,  perchance,  comprehends 
all  others. 

God  has  done  so  much  to  diminish  the  number  of 
the  guilty  !  He  desires,  smiles  upon,  and  aids  our 
progress,  yet  does  not  need  it.  But  when  once, 


172  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

through  the  blessing  of  a  fulfilled  precept,  we  have  dis- 
cerned somewhat  of  the  fair  order  of  God's  purposes  ; 
when  our  first  initiation  has  acquainted  us  with  the 
nature  of  his  views,  —  how  can  we  stop  at  the  letter  of 
the  law,  how  fail  to  respond  to  those  most  affecting 
solicitations  of  his  love,  which  plead  for  our  full  sur- 
render? When  we  have  taken  the  step  of  quitting 
the  ways  of  nature,  — ways  which,  after  all,  'tis 
often  easy  and  sweet  to  follow ;  when  we  have 
schooled  ourselves  to  silence,  and  conquered  ourselves 
at  a  thousand  appreciable  points,  — is  it  worth  while 
to  pause  in  the  region  of  a  doubtful  and  debatable 
obedience,  and,  after  having  renounced  the  world 
and  its  fascinations,  to  miss,  when  thus  despoiled, 
even  the  true  liberty  of  the  children  of  God  ? 

A  constellation  of  virtues  watches  over  this  resig- 
nation ;  and  shall  not  the  Christian,  who  reads  each 
day,  "The  just  shall  live  by  faith,"  add,  if  his  heart 
suffers,  by  faith  and  by  resignation  ? 

Faith  renders  resignation  reasonable. 

Hope  renders  it  easy ;  charming  our  griefs  by  giv- 
ing us  a  foretaste  of  actual  joys,  and  lightening  all 
burdens  by  the  power  of  that  attraction  which  urges 
us  on  towards  the  unseen  good. 

Charity,  the  all-powerful,  communicates  its  spirit 
to  resignation. 

The  love  of  God,  after  turning  us  aside  from  the 
long-cherished  love  of  ourselves,  levels  the  hills,  that 
naught  may  interrupt  our  view  of  the  divine  horizon  ; 


ON    RESIGNATION.  173 

and  fills  the  valleys,  that  our  march  may  not  be  hin- 
dered. 

Patience  touches  resignation  so  closely  that  they 
seem  almost  identical.  It  is  in  patience  that  we  pos- 
sess our  souls,  —  patience,  a  delicious  fruit  when 
gathered  ripe,  whose  root  only  is  bitter,  as  an  ancient 
writer  says. 

Humility  is  the  true  torch  which  illumines  our  sor- 
rows. Insolvents  that  we  are,  what  can  we  suffer 
that  we  have  not  deserved,  if  not  in  detail,  at  least 
on  the  whole?  Humility,  gentle  and  tender,  plucks 
out  the  dart  and  heals  the  wound,  cicatrized  by  resig- 
nation. 

Sacrifice  !  We  must  not  forget  that  the  Christian 
altar  is  a  tomb,  and  that  the  adorable  Victim  invites  us 
to  immolate  ourselves  along  with  him  upon  the  bones 
of  confessors  and  martyrs.  The  spirit  of  sacrifice  is 
meet  for  all ;  and,  while  heroic  deeds  are  demanded 
of  some,  there  remains  for  the  rest  an  obscure  and 
perpetual  immolation. 

Passing  fancies,  incomplete  sacrifices,  the  many 
things  which  compromise  the  free  and  full  ideal,  can- 
not, of  themselves,  bear  blessed  fruit  or  effectual 
consolation.  When  one  has  gone  so  far  as  to  wish 
to  turn  away  from  self,  he  must  turn  to  God  irrevo- 
cably and  entirely.  He  must  become  that  inhabitant 
of  the  holy  city,  who  "bears,"  as  St.  Augustine  says, 
"in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  a  perpetual  fiat  and 
amen  ; "  who  wants  all  the  pains  he  endures,  and 


174  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

none  of  the  consolations  which  are  denied  him.  Ask 
him  what  he  desires,  and  he  will  tell  you,  —  exactly 
what  he  has.  God's  will,  in  the  present  moment,  is 
the  daily  bread  which  transcends  all  substance. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON   THE    ADVANTAGES     OF    SUBMISSION. 

THAT  submission  which  God  seems  to  require  for 
his  own  sake,  he,  in  reality,  desires  for  ours.  It 
is  wholly  for  our  interest,  and  answers  our  most 
pressing  need. 

If  our  nature  were  not  so  deeply  degraded,  if  sin 
did  not  dim  our  vision  by  incessantly  deepening  the 
shadows  around  us,  internal  and  external  motives  for 
resignation  would  still  arise  from  the  very  nature 
of  things.  How  could  weakness  help  confiding  in 
strength,  darkness  in  light,  deep  ignorance  in  the 
wisdom  from  which  nothing  is  hid? 

And  that  which  the  holy  Scriptures  most  clearly 
reveal  to  us,  is  the  goodness  of  God  and  the  love  he 
bears  to  man.  He  created  man  to  know,  serve,  and 
love  him,  and  thereby  to  merit  a  blessed  eternity. 
He  makes  him  responsible  only  that  he  may  crown 
him.  Can  we  suspect  that  Providence,  after  tracing 
so  sublime  a  programme  for  his  creatures,  demands 
aught  from  them  but  obedience,  as  the  means  of 


ON   RESIGNATION.  175 

realizing  it?  Liberty,  in  a  created  being,  is  inti- 
mately correlated  with  obedience.  Without  a  re- 
straining law,  liberty  would  be  a  fatal  gift,  —  a  kind 
of  shirt  of  Nessus.  All  equilibrium  would  be  de- 
stroyed. 

Of  all  the  traits  which  go  to  make  up  the  grand 
and  divine  figure  of  Christ,  none  is  more  marked 
than  obedience.  Not  merely  his  acts,  of  which  the 
last  and  sublimest  conducted  him  to  death,  —  and 
death  on  the  cross !  —  but  all  his  words  express 
simply  the  immolation  of  his  will.  "I  came  down 
from  heaven,"  says  he,  "  not  to  do  mine  own  will, 
but  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me."  Thus  it  was  not 
enough  for  Christ,  that,  by  the  consubstantiality  of 
his  divine  nature,  his  will  was  identical  with  that  of 
the  Father.  The  Son  of  God,  —  God  himself,  —  he 
came  down  to  earth,  both  to  teach  us  how  to  love 
God's  will  better,  and  to  introduce  us  to  all  the 
blessings  of  submission. 

o 

Faith,  which  shows  us  our  own  destiny,  reveals 
at  the  same  time  the  whole  economy  of  the  divine 
plans ;  shows  that  each  and  every  one  of  us  is  as 
much  the  object  of  providential  solicitude,  as  if  he 
were  its  single  centre ;  and  declares,  not  merely 
that  God  wills  our  salvation,  but  that,  relatively  to 
us,  it  is  the  only  thing  he  wills.  On  the  one  hand, 
he  imposes  on  man  the  obligation  of  striving  to 
secure  his  own  happiness.  On  the  other,  he  pledges 


176  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

himself  to  render  infallible,  in  some  sort,  the  means 
of  success. 

The  poor  human  creature,  whose  life  is  but  a  day, 
whose  soul  may  be  lost  or  required  of  him  at  any 
moment,  should  find  in  life,  under  a  God  who  is 
faithful  to  his  promises,  only  a  divine  preparation, 
most  meet  to  develop,  strengthen,  correct,  and  purify 
the  spiritual  germ,  and  raise  it  to  the  level  of  that 
destiny  which  the  Eternal  is  preparing  for  him. 
Man  fails  in  his  vocation,  but  God  cannot  fail  in  his 
promises.  All  the  heedlessness  and  ingratitude  of 
his  creatures  cannot  alter  the  Tact,  that,  at  each 
moment  of  their  earthly  course,  all  the  means  of 
perfection  are  given  or  offered  them.  These  means 
may  be  disguised  ;  but,  in  whatever  shape  they  appear, 
they  never  lose  their  essence,  nor,  if  man  so  wills, 
their  mighty  virtue. 

Hence  it  follows,  that  all  the  situations  in  which 
God  places  us,  all  the  dangers  even  to  which  we  are 
exposed,  if  they  be  not  the  punishment  of  the  rash 
provocations  we  have  offered,  may  be  turned  to  our 
advantage ;  and  that  what  is9  for  the  very  reason 
that  it  is,  conduces  to  our  highest  interests. 

It  cannot  be  otherwise,  from  the  moment  that  you 
acknowledge  a  sovereign  Ruler  in  heaven,  and  a 
dependent  creature  on  the  earth.  The  Creator,  who 
is  truth  and  power  itself,  cannot  be  mistaken  about 
the  end  which  the  poor  creature,  so  benevolently 
summoned  into  existence,  ought  to  attain,  any  more 


ON    RESIGNATION.  177 

than  in  the  nature  of  the  aid  which  is  indispensable 
to  him.  God,  as  Christianity  represents  him, — the 
only  true  Father  of  his  children, — is  working  for 
their  happiness  every  instant  of  that  time  which  he 
has  summoned  from  his  own  eternity.  Man,  in  the 
words  of  St.  Paul,  is  at  once  the  field  that  he  culti- 
vates and  the  edifice  that  he  builds.  Nature,  man, 
the  very  elements  ;  the  earth  ploughed,  sown,  and 
weeded  by  the  divine  Laborer,  —  all  these  are  God's 
means.  All  irregularities  contribute  to  the  beauty 
of  the  harvest,  and  the  north  wind  and  snows  of 
winter  are  as  needful  as  the  sun  to  cause  the  pre- 
cious seed  to  fructify.  Hence,  every  vicissitude  in 
its  season. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Saviour  says  to  us,  "  There 
shall  in  no  wise  enter  into  it  any  thing  that  defileth  ;  " 
"  Put  off  the  old  man ;  "  "  Verily  I  say  unto  you, 
except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  shall  not  see  the 
kingdom  of  God."  What,  then,  do  we  find?  Two 
terms,  divided  by  an  abyss,  —  but  an  abyss  which 
the  selfsame  word  assures  us  can  be  bridged  by  in- 
finite pity  and  human  desire :  firstly,  a  God  who 
so  loved  men  that  he  came  to  live,  suffer,  and  die 
among  them ;  secondly,  a  nature  weak  and  imper- 
fect, but  endowed  with  moral  faculties,  which  render 
it  susceptible  of  progress,  and  able  to  respond  to  the 
sublimity  of  its  vocation. 

Hence,  joy  and  sorrow,  as  understood  by  the  world, 
are  capable  of  a  deeper  and  truer  interpretation,  which 

8* 


178  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

acquaints  us  with  the  secret  of  the  Creator's  merciful 
designs  in  reference  to  his  creatures. 

For  the  very  reason  that  the  Master  is  benevolent 
and  mighty,  and  the  creature  capable  of  education, 
this  world  assumes  the  aspect  of  a  vast  school,  where 
all  within  and  without  us  is  destined  to  become  con- 
ducive to  our  advancement.  We  need  not  merely  to 
be  taught,  but  to  be  healed, — human  nature  being 
"that  great  invalid,"  so  called  by  the  pious  Augus- 
tine, who  understood  it  so  well.  And  the  great 
invalid  appeals  to  the  great  Physician.  Redemption 
is  the  pledge  of  cure.  Resignation  is  naught  but 
the  will  to  seize  all  offered  remedies. 

Divine  wisdom,  embracing  all  of  man  in  the 
law  it  gives  him,  embraces  no  less  the  totality  of 
his  destiny.  God  makes  no  virtue  obligatory  upon 
man,  which  does  not  greatly  subserve  his  temporal 
welfare.  But  he  considers  this  transitory  being  only 
in  his  relations  with  immortality ;  and  if  he  arms 
him  as  a  warrior  for  time,  it  is  only  to  enable  him 
to  conquer  that  kingdom  of  heaven  that  "suffereth 
violence." 

Earthly  happiness  —  mixed,  brief,  uncertain,  al- 
ways so  near  annihilation  —  could  not  have  been 
the  final  end  which  Providence  proposed  in  our 
creation.  His  greatness  disavows  so  low  an  aim. 
His  love  reserves  for  man,  greater  liberality  and 
magnificence.  But  taking  us  so  low,  and  raising 
our  hopes  to  so  high  a  pitch,  what  a  variety  and 


ON    RESIGNATION.  179 

abundance  of  care,  help,  and  invention,  has  he  not 
found  needful,  to  help  us  to  mount  the  ladder  of  res- 
toration !  How  can  we  comprehend  both  the  osten- 
sible and  secret  resources  that  were  requisite  to  move 
our  so  stupid  and  rebellious  human  nature,  —  to  re- 
store, raise,  attract,  instruct,  guide  without  compul- 
sion, bend  and  enlighten  it,  and,  as  it  were,  prevent 
its  falls  without  its  knowledge  ?  "  What  have  I  not 
done  for  thee,  O  my  people  !  "  says  Christ  to  each 
one  of  us.  "What  could  I  have  done  that  I  have 
not  done?"  The  Father  of  the  great  human  family, 
he  yearns  over  his  children,  dispensing  to  them 
the  bread  of  Christian  knowledge,  and  pouring  for 
them,  though  with  a  trembling  hand,  the  wine  of 
tribulation. 

Human  events  are  but  a  succession  of  remedies, 
appropriate  to  our  variously  diseased  state,  —  a  suc- 
cession of  lessons  applicable  to  the  different  forms  of 
our  ignorance ;  and  the  world  is  the  theatre  of  that 
divine  experiment,  where  the  Restorer  shows  himself 
as  great  as  the  Creator,  and  more  merciful  than  he. 
All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
God. 

The  greatest  of  earthly  ills  are  entirely  out  of  pro- 
portion with  that  eternal  weight  of  glory  which,  if  we 
will,  is  one  day  to  reward  us.  Who  of  us  would  not 
a  thousand  times  rather  have  salvation  than  the  world, 
even  though  he  be  not  entirely  weaned  from  the  latter  ? 


180  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Therefore,  let  us  fairly  and  sincerely  review  in  mem- 
ory those  human  pangs  and  griefs  which  have  isolat- 
ed or  transfixed  our  hearts,  and  acknowledge  that  the 
cruellest  severities  in  the  order  of  nature  have  been 
salutary ;  that  we  owe  much  of  what  we  are  to  what 
we  have  missed  ;  and  that  in  our  sharpest  sorrows 
the  help  was  found  which  snatched  us  from  the  abyss. 
God's  children  receive  blessings  only  from  his  liberal 
hands,  —  blessings  unrecognized  in  the  language  of 
men,  but  which  our  guardian  angels  know  how  to 
call  by  their  true  names.  "The  chastisements  of  the 
Almighty  are  blessings  in  disguise." 

Observe,  first  of  all,  that  this  Will,  before  which 
we  are  required  to  bow,  asks  of  us  nothing  impos- 
sible, unreasonable,  or  humiliating.  In  no  €ase  does 
Christian  perfection  demand  acquiescence  in  a  culpa- 
ble or  dangerous  position,  or  indifference  to  God's 
sentence  of  disgrace,  or  to  the  deprivation  of  his 
sacraments,  and  of  the  uncounted  wealth  with  which 
he  has  dowered  his  church.  Resignation  is  applicable 
only  to  things  that  pass  away.  Neither  has  it  ever 
denied  the  rights  of  human  sensibility  ;  nor  can  it  be 
too  often  repeated,  that  it  is  not  so  much  excess 
of  grief  that  resignation  resists,  as  its  revolt.  God 
brings  such  beautiful  results  out  of  grief,  when  it  is 
simple  and  deep,  that  it  always  finds  grace  ;  and  there 
is  indulgence  for  our  tears,  even  when  weakness  has 
made  them  flow. 

But  when,  irritated  by  pain  and  given  over  to  a 


ON   RESIGNATION.  181 

prideful  bitterness,  we  take  a  haughty  attitude  before 
the  Most  High,  and  seem  to  require  of  him  an 
account  of  our  trials,  and  to  treat  with  him  on  equal 
terms,  do  we  do  well  to  exult  in  the  plenitude  of  our 
reason,  and  to  mark  the  distance  between  our  noth- 
ingness and  the  might  and  wisdom  of  the  Infinite? 

Ah  !  if,  rather,  we  are  docile  to  the  voices  of  hu- 
mility and  justice,  and  assume  before  God  that  atti- 
tude of  sinners  which  belongs  to  us,  what  truths  will 
be  revealed  to  us  by  our  sufferings,  what  mysteries 
will  be  explained  !  Suffering,  that  divine  messen- 
ger,— ™ Der  gottliche  Bote,  das  JElend,"  —  will  then 
appear  to  us  the  messenger  of  reconciliation. 

The  sacred  Scripture  calls  him  most  miserable  to 
whom  it  has  not  been  given  to  dread  the  supreme 
sentence.  In  short,  while  this  fear  lives  in  us,  how 
can  the  justice  of  our  own  hearts  help  saying  that 
God's  justice  demands  satisfaction  ;  and,  if  the  con- 
ditions of  this  satisfaction  were  left  to  our  own  sole 
choice,  how  could  we  feel  confident  of  their  fitness  or 
efficiency?  If  we  dread  the  position  of  insolvent 
debtors,  resignation  offers  us  the  means  of  acquittal ; 
and  these  means  are  precisely  that  grief  and  bitter- 
ness and  loathing  which  we  are  invariably  obliged  to 
undergo. 

The  selection  of  our  expiatory  and  purifying  suf- 
ferings is  made  by  a  master  hand,  —  the  selfsame  hand 
that  traces  the  way  wherein  we  must  walk.  Our 
task  is  greatly  lightened  by  this  fact ;  and  we  feel  as- 


182  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

sured  that  our  trials,  being  divinely  shaped  upon  our 
needs,  adapted  to  our  stature  and  proportioned  to 
our  strength,  are  calculated  to  produce  all  the  in- 
tended effects.  Are  we  then  so  sure  of  what  we 
need?  Our  constantly  disappointed  conjectures,  our 
views  daily  convicted  of  error,  ought,  of  themselves, 
to  wean  us  from  our  own  judgment.  For  who  has 
ever  been  able  to  arrange  the  slightest  detail  of  his 
life  to  his  own  satisfaction ;  to  calculate  accurately 
within  the  narrowest  circle  of  interests  the  effects  of 
a  given  resolution,  enumerate  its  chances,  or  prevent 
the  inconveniences  it  may  entail ;  in  short,  to  provide 
against  the  uncertainties  of  any  future? 

Moreover,  the  very  realization  of  our  wishes  must 
often  have  sufficed  to  deprive  our  prudence  of  the 
courage  to  form  new ;  for,  if  we  have  all  suffered 
from  cheated  hopes,  have  we  not  also  to  deplore  the 
fulfilment  of  some  few?  Antiquity  illustrated,  under 
a  multitude  of  forms,  the  ignorant  rashness  of  our 
passionate  desires ;  and  the  fable  of  Semele  underlies 
the  experience  of  every  age.  It  is  against  the  suc- 
cess of  our  own  plans  that  the  Christian's  God  defends 
us,  —  he  who  refuses  to  hear,  — just  as  he  wounds,  — 
to  heal.  "  We  ask  in  folly,  but  we  are  answered  in 
wisdom."  God  has  from  all  eternity  replied  to  these 
cries  of  ours  —  blinder  than  they  are  helpless  —  by 
the  words,  "Your  thoughts  are  not  as  my  thoughts, 
neither  are  my  ways  your  ways."  It  is  precisely  be- 
cause his  ear  is  attentive  to  our  insatiable  need  of 


ON    RESIGNATION.  183 

faithfulness,  that  he  so  often  rejects  the  vain  chimeras 
in  which  that  need  finds  expression.  "All  is  done 
for  the  elect,"  but  done  by  means  of  the  sorrows  they 
pass  through  and  dwell  among ;  and  I  ask,  in  the 
words  of  Bildad,  that  hypocritical  friend  of  Job,  — 
who  was  not  worthy  of  the  truth  upon  his  lips, — 
"  Can  the  rush  grow  up  without  mire  ?  Can  the  flag 
grow  without  water  ?  " 

You  complain  of  terrible  and  unexpected  blows  ; 
but  how  can  one  blast  the  rock  or  temper  the  iron, 
save  by  fire  and  anvil?  And  you  who  groan  over 
the  crashing  continuity  of  your  woes,  is  it  not  be- 
cause you  have  not  yet  divined  their  last  secret? 
"  Trouble  never  comes  alone,"  according  to  a  popular 
proverb.  Trouble,  like  that  demon  of  the  Scriptures, 
is  named  Legion.  "  These  things,"  says  the  book  of 
Job,  "doth  God  twice  and  thrice  upon  the  children 
of  men."  This,  in  order  that  virtue,  like  knowledge, 
may  be  acquired  only  by  a  sequence  of  experiences, 
and  by  lessons,  the  first  condition  of  whose  utility  is 
their  repetition. 

If  the  winds  of  prosperity  did  not  blow  some  por- 
tion of  the  time,  how  could  we  feel  sure  that  our 
virtue  was  not  a  thing  of  chance,  and  that  our  hearts 
were  really  purified  of  the  leaven  that  pufteth  up,  and 
all  the  pride  of  life?  So,  if  our  trials  and  tempta- 
tions came  only  at  long  intervals,  and  yielded  too 
readily  to  consolation,  where  would  be  the  novitiate 


184  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

of  patience,  and  the  employment  of  our  energies? 
How  could  the  divine  germ,  whose  very  irregularities 
are  specially  conducive  to  its  growth,  strike  those 
deep  roots  which  are  to  bear  its  branches  upward  to 
eternal  life  ?  It  is  by  redoubled  blows  that  our  re- 
bellious nature  is  fashioned,  and  in  the  persistence  of 
God  his  will  is  to  be  read.  It  is  not  merely  a  ques- 
tion of  tempering  the  iron,  but  of  transforming  it 
into  steel ;  and  we  know  that  what  demands  the  last 
perfection  of  the  workman's  skill  is  that  final  polish 
so  difficult  to  obtain. 

"  Et  fons  de  domo  Domini  egredietur  et  irrigabit 
torrentem  spinarum."  Who  knows  whether  the  liv- 
ing waters  of  that  fountain  would  have  flowed  as 
clearly  and  swiftly  over  any  other  bed  ? l  .  .  . 

Is  it  not  our  Lord  himself  who  has  taught  us  to 
say,  "Thy  will  be  done"?  It  is  the  tenderest  and 
fondest  word  that  love  ever  pronounced,  whereby  we 
salute  and  bless  in  advance  a  will  as  yet  unknown. 
And  that  kingdom  of  God,  whose  coming  we  each 
day  invoke,  what  is  it  but  his  will  regnant  within  us, 
—  sovereign  by  virtue  of  our  resignation  ?  Is  it  not 

1  A  friend  furnishes  the  following  note  :  — 

Joel  iii.  18.  In  the  English  version,  "A  fountain  shall  come 
forth  of  the  house  of  the  Lord,  and  shall  water  the  valley  of 
Shittim."  The  word  Shittim,  sifcjp,  is  the  plural  of  Shittah, 
DtSlZlij  the  Hebrew  name  of  the  acacia,  or  spina  ^gijptiaca.  Hence, 

T       ' 

Nahal  Hashshittim,  fcifsEJn  JriD,  The  Valley  of  Acacias ;  in  the  Latin 
version,  torrentem  spinarum.  —  TR. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  185 

also  that  peace  that  the  Saviour  promised  to  his  dis- 
ciples, —  "  La  sua  volonte  e  nostra  pace  "  ? 

For  who  ever  yet  resisted  God  and  lived  in  peace  ? 
Let  us,  therefore,  say  with  the  apostle,  "  We  are 
troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed.  We  are 
perplexed,  but  not  in  despair ;  persecuted,  but  not 
forsaken  ;  cast  down,  but  not  destroyed." 

Resignation  is  a  generous  profession  of  our  faith  in 
the  kindness  of  God's  purposes  towards  us.  The 
more  searchingly  we  are  tested,  the  greater  should  be 
our  courage,  and  the  more  plainly  we  should  perceive 
the  thought  of  Providence.  Against  chance,  we  can 
have  neither  strength  nor  courage.  But  the  moment 
we  begin  to  suspect  a  divine  intention,  we  are,  I 
think,  almost  ready  to  accord  wisdom,  pity,  and 
foresight  to  that  word  of  the  enigma  which  is  still 
undeciphered.  The  less  modifiable  events  appear  to 
be,  the  less  possible  it  is  for  us  to  assign  human 
causes  for  them  ;  and  the  greater  the  opportunity  for 
the  exercise  of  our  faith,  because  God's  share  in  them 
is  more  clearly  revealed.  The  more  impenetrable  his 
will  is,  the  more  goodness  and  mercy  it  hides.  The 
pruning  of  his  adorable  hand  is  ever  profitable  to  the 
tree.  Let  us  be  watchful  for  the  slightest  summons 
to  action ;  and,  in  those  hard  times  when  action  is 
impossible,  let  us  imitate  the  valor  of  those  troops 
who,  by  the  order  of  their  chiefs,  stand  motionless, 
like  a  living  wall,  arms  in  their  hands,  and  exposed 


186  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

to  the  full  fire  of  the  enemy,  and  are  adjudged  none 
the  less  worthy  of  the  victor's  crown  when  victory  is 
won. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ON    RESIGNATION    TO    SO-CALLED    IRREPARABLE    ILLS. 

THE  hardest  test  of  resignation  is  found,  no  doubt, 
in  sorrows  that  have  no  cure.  Irrevocability  adds 
one  degree  to  grief.  It  puts  the  finishing  touch. 

The  most  trifling  evil  grows  and  spreads,  if  judged 
utterly  irremediable.  It  is  of  the  essence  of  irre- 
parable misfortune  to  check  the  development  of  the 
powers  and  paralyze  all  action.  It  renders  our  strug- 
gles insensate ;  yet  immobility,  in  the  presence  of 
suifering,  is,  from  a  human  point  of  view,  one  of 
the  severest  of  tortures ;  no  genuine  consolation 
being  possible  for  cureless  ills.  The  natural  life 
offers  no  hope  of  solace  for  what  will  endure  while 
life  endures. 

Faith  alone  can  change  and  widen  our  horizon. 
Faith  alone  enables  us  to  catch  glimpses  of  that  region 
where  what  was  ended  on  the  earth  is  renewed  and 
recommenced,  —  where  he  who  dropped  down  wound- 
ed, arises  healed ;  so  that  already  from  that  upper 
sphere,  where  solemn  and  complete  restitution  is 
accomplished,  reflections  fall  upon  us  that  soothe 
our  heavy  hearts. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  187 

A  famous  writer  has  said  that  the  Christian,  like 
Alexander,  reserves  nothing  to  himself  but  hope ;  a 
magnificent  share,  for  which  the  boundaries  of  the 
universe  are  too  narrow. 

Among  all  the  events  which  bear  the  terrible  char- 
acter of  irremediability,  the  death  of  those  we  love 
doubtless  stands  foremost.  To  see  a  part  of  our 
being  snatched  away ;  to  survive,  through  grief,  the 
affections  which  constituted  our  glory,  our  strength, 
our  joy,  or  our  security,  and  perhaps  all  of  these,  — 
this  is  to  feel  ourselves  broken,  impoverished,  trans- 
fixed* These  legitimate  regrets  are  more  than 
permitted  :  it  is  our  dignity  to  cherish  them  ;  and 
Christianity  merely  arms  us  against  their  excess. 
Only  here  as  elsewhere,  by  changing  our  point  of 
view,  Christianity  gives  us  a  deep  insight  into  the 
nature  of  our  affections,  in  order  to  sanctify  and 
purify  them  from  all  that  might  irritate  or  envenom. 

Christianity  is  always  ready  to  admit  to  us  the 
justice,  poignancy,  and  severity  of  our  griefs  ;  always 
ready  to  acknowledge  that  a  void  in  the  joys  we  have 
tasted  may  become  an  abyss,  that  the  vanishing  of  a 
single  being  may  make  the  world  a  desert,  and  that 
the  cruel  bereavement  may  lade  every  moment  with 
a  heavy  and  heart-rending  weight.  But,  after  all 
these  concessions,  it  demands  of  us,  whether,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  is  quite  right  for  an  immortal 
creature  to  pause  at  any  one  gloomy  point  in  space, 


188  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

and  allow  its  darkness  to  overspread  his  whole  career  ; 
whether  that  irrevocability  of  death,  undeniable  on 
this  side  the  grave,  preserves  its  character  beyond 
it ;  whether  faith  has  ever  named  eternal  separation  ; 
whether  the  friends  we  mourn,  are  lost,  or  only  absent ; 
whether,  in  short,  since  we  have  the  hope  of  regain- 
ing them  one  day,  we  ought  not  to  force  ourselves 
to  restrain  our  impatience,  and  hasten  by  prayer 
our  common  deliverance. 

And  can  we  forget  our  own  death,  —  that  death 
which  has  been  called  the  middle  of  a  long  life, 
and  which  at  all  events,  how  long  soever  our  days 
may  be,  only  strikes,  at  the  outset,  an  unending  ex- 
istence? When  we  reflect  what  man's  life  under 
present  conditions  would  be  if  there  were  no  death, 
we  are  abundantly  reconciled  to  the  fact.  At  once 
a  punishment,  and  a  most  expressive  token  of  the 
fall  of  man  and  the  vengeance  of  God,  it  none 
the  less  resembles  that  lance  of  the  poet's  fancy 
which  healed  the  very  wounds  it  made. 

Death  lavishes  useful  lessons  along  the  route  we 
have  to  travel,  guiding  our  steps  also,  illuminating 
the  horizon  before  us  with  most  celestial  brightness, 
and  causing  to  pale  those  unsteady  fires  and  deceit- 
ful glimmers  which  arise  out  of  the  sinful  earth  to 
seduce  and  lead  us  astray.  Death  teaches  us  at 
once  the  vanity  of  all  that  with  which  it  sports, 
and  the  grandeur  of  all  that  which  it  respects.  The 
thought  thereof  is  our  enlightened  judge  and  infalli- 


ON   RESIGNATION.  189 

ble  counsellor ;  and  if  we  were  not  continually  mis- 
taking the  twilight  for  the  day,  we  should  see  how 
serviceable  are  Death's  living  lessons  to  the  one  brief 
morning  which  makes  up  our  life. 

Old  age,  also,  is  an  irreparable  evil.  Nothing 
can  make  us  re-live  our  years ;  but,  like  all  obscure 
situations,  it  brings  with  it  strong  consolations,  and 
a  secret  charm  known  only  to  those  who  experi- 
ence its  enjoyment.  If  the  life  of  the  old  man  has 
been  virtuous,  the  long  look  he  bends  upon  the 
past  is  full  of  sweetness.  He  contemplates  all  its 
elements,  all  its  pledges  of  a  happy  and  eternal 
future.  Pausing  on  the  height  whence  the  land 
looks  broadest  and  richest,  he  follows  the  course  of 
the  streams  he  has  been  able  to  subdue ;  he  recog- 
nizes his  favorite  places  of  shade  and  shelter,  the 
fields  tilled  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  the  oaks  which 
have  grown  from  the  acorns  he  planted.  The  self- 
same sun  still  illumines  with  his  oblique  and  always 
friendly  rays  the  long  way  he  has  come,  and  the 
mysterious  paths  whereby  a  good  Providence  has 
led  him  to  himself. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  the  old  man's  days  have  been 
evil  in  the  twofold  respect  of  the  sins  and  sorrows 
they  have  brought  with  them,  and  if,  nevertheless, 
he  has  not  obstinately  closed  his  heart,  he  assists  at 
the  living  verification  of  the  divine  precepts,  at  the 
noble  spectacle  of  God  justified  in  all  his  ways,  and 


190  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

the  law  avenged  at  all  points  by  the  consequences 
of  his  transgressions.  He  distinguishes  clearly  amid 
the  sufferings  he  has  undergone,  those  which  God 
and  nature  did  not  prepare  for  him,  and  discerns 
that  long  chain  of  invitations  by  which  he  has  been 
summoned,  and  of  which,  perhaps,  it  has  sufficed 
that  one  only  has  not  been  refused. 

Ah  !  it  enters  not  into  the  plan  of  Providence  to 
disinherit  any  of  his  creatures.  If  latent  forces  and 
veiled  graces  did  not  lurk  beneath  the  ashes  of  age, 
life  would  never  be  prolonged  so  far.  God  has 
provided  for  the  duration  of  all  his  insensible  creat- 
ures and  for  the  consolation  of  all  who  are  not  so. 
In  this  world,  where  trial  is  everywhere  and  final 
chastisement  nowhere,  the  real  equality  between  the 
different  conditions  of  life  is  greater  than  would  be 
supposed  from  the  apparent  diversity.  Situations 
are  to  be  judged,  not  from  without,  but  from  within. 
"Taste  and  see,"  saith  the  Psalmist.  Taste  that  you 
may  see.  Compensation  never  fails. 

One  of  the  privileges  of  old  age  is  the  possession  of 
truth  par  excellence ,  — truth  stripped  of  all  prestige 
by  the  presentation  of  the  naked  reality.  And  shall 
we  make  no  account  of  the  dangers  vanquished,  the 
more  immediate  divine  consolations,  the  thousand 
palliatives  ingeniously  arranged  by  the  Master  for 
his  degraded  servant?  Shall  we  make  no  account 
of  the  slackened  but  surer  pace,  the  dignity,  the 
calm,  which  make  old  age  what  God  intended  it 


ON   RESIGNATION.  191 

should  be,  —  a  sublime  halt  between   a  conquered 
world  and  eternity? 

And  see  how  these  bodily  infirmities,  the  slightest 
one  of  which  would  spoil  the  most  marvellously  pros- 
perous lot,  react  upon  the  heart  that  accepts  them  ! 
They  do  indeed  place  us  in  a  position  of  physical 
inferiority,  impose  upon  us  constraint  and  depend- 
ence, break  down  and  overthrow  what  is  haughty 
within  us  ;  but  they  need  not,  unless  we  will,  en- 
croach upon  the  charities  of  life,  or  its  pious,  humble, 
secret  consolations.  So  far  from  this,  it  would  seem 
as  if  these  infirmities  enabled  us  to  live  in  the  very 
atmosphere  of  the  gospel  beatitudes.  If  they  make 
us  timid  before  the  eyes  of  men,  they  place  us  more 
directly  under  those  of  God.  We  are  then,  by 
nature,  what  St.  Francis  d'Assisi  became  by  cir- 
cumstances and  by  virtue,  ™ poverelli  di  Christo" 
poor,  and  the  real  poor ;  since  poverty  being  the  lack 
of  what  is  needful,  we  have  become,  so  to  speak,  its 
impersonation. 

One  must  needs  have  tried  corporeal  infirmity, 
parted  with  his  keenest  repugnance,  and  afterwards 
become  reconciled  thereto,  if  he  would  know  on  what 
peaceful  terms  one  may  live  with  humiliation,  habit- 
ual suffering,  and  constant  inconvenience.  The  prog- 
ress that  is  made  by  the  long-continued  exercise  of 
submission  in  a  single  matter,  surpasses  all  anticipa- 
tion, and  can  only  be  equalled  by  the  tender  rever- 


192  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

ence  we  are  capable  of  conceiving  for  an  infirmity 
whose  irksomeness  has  been  conquered  by  patience 
and  by  love. 

Our  sense  of  honor  would  be  alike  wounded, 
whether  we  were  actually  found  in  conditions  which 
the  laws  of  the  world  pronounce  disgraceful,  or 
whether  appearances  only  were  against  us.  Honor, 
that  steep  and  rocky  isle,  whose  shore  is  no  more  to 
be  seen  a  second  time  than  that  of  death, — honor 
decrees  that  all  stains  should  be  indelible,  and  that 
every  wound  should  keep  its  scar.  The  spirit  of  this 
world  framed  the  code  of  honor,  marked  it  with  its 
own  incisive  impress,  and  imparted  thereto  its  own 
implacability. 

The  world,  it  is  true,  sometimes  forgets ;  but  it 
expunges  nothing,  and  never  forgives.  It  cannot 
forgive  :  nor  is  this  strange ;  for,  dispensing  no  actual 
good  or  real  recompense,  it  has  no  means  of  self- 
defence,  save  inexorable  punishment.  But  precisely 
because  this  harsh,  capricious,  impotent  master  has 
nothing  better  to  offer  us,  we  are  invited  to  seek  in 
the  free  space  above  us,  a  refuge  from  the  irrevocable 
judgments  that  are  pronounced  here  below.  If  we 
rate  the  world  truly,  who  shall  say  how  much  its 
castigations  have  had  to  do  with  the  tardy  justice  we 
render?  Is  it  likely  that,  if  a  shining  approbation  had 
always  accompanied  us,  we  should  have  sought  God 
with  as  much  zeal  and  as  much  perseverance  as  now  ? 


ON   RESIGNATION.  193 


Honor  may  be  compromised,  and  virtue  none 
the  less  intact  or  recovered ;  and  virtue  is  always 
ready  and  able  to  protect  us.  Nothing  can  prevent 
conscience  from  offering  its  testimony,  and  placing 
us  under  the  law,  either  of  innocence  or  repent- 
ance. 

If  there  is  a  misfortune  to  which  the  word  irrepar- 
able may  strictly  be  applied,  and  which  we  cannot 
mention  without  a  shudder,  it  is  final  impenitence, 
—  death  in  sin  and  enmity  to  God.  This  misfortune 
carries  no  great  sorrow,  save  to  the  heart  of  the 
observer.  When  it  is  personal,  the  perverted  will  is 
itself  stupefied,  and,  as  in  desperate  and  mortal 
diseases,  renders  the  patient  ignorant  of  his  malady, 
and  without  apprehension  of  his  danger.  But  what 
a  sight  for  the  beholder  is  the  impious  consummation 
of  all  the  sinner's  revolts,  — the  heUvy  tombstone 
sealing  up  his  crimes,  — the  Saviour  denied  or  defied 
at  the  very  threshold  of  eternity  !  Ah  !  if  Providence 
has  willed  that  the  only  misfortune  which  is  without 
hope  should  also  be  without  consolation,  he  has  at 
least  spared  no  precautions  to  avert  from  us  the 
execution  of  that  sentence :  there  is  no  curious  care 
which  his  goodness  has  not  taken  to  reserve  its 
secret  to  himself,  as  if  in  order  to  secure  the  greater 
freedom  of  his  own  action. 

Unable  to  cast  aside  his  justice,  one  would  say 
that  it  had  pleased  God  to  veil  it  on  the  one  hand, 

9 


194  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

and  elude  it  on  the  other.  He  admits  so  many  signs 
of  repentance  with  which  he  shows  himself  ready  to 
be  satisfied.  The  Church,  our  holy  mother,  wills 
that  all  amendment  should  be  hopeful.  Even  in 
the  dying  man,  who  tries  the  faith  of  all  about  him, 
a  word,  a  look,  a  regret,  an  almost  imperceptible 
gleam,  suffice  to  give  a  little  confidence.  If  his  hand 
have  clasped  the  crucifix,  if  his  lips  have  pressed  it 
for  the  first  and  last  time,  if  he  have  responded  by 
one  feeble  sign  to  the  sacramental  words,  the  Su- 
preme Judge  is  softened,  and  ready  to  revoke  his 
sentence. 

Even  these  extreme  limits  of  mercy  the  Church 
finds  means  to  pass.  She  does  more  than  reduce 
the  number  of  our  anxieties  and  welcome  all  that 
can  reassure  us.  When  the  misfortune  is  consum- 
mated, however  desperate  and  absolute  its  conditions 
may  be,  she  raises  her  voice  and  imperiously  forbids 
us  to  individualize  our  fears,  —  glad  to  proclaim  that 
there  are  no  proper  names  in  Hell. 

This  eminently  Christian  reserve  is  extended  with 
yet  better  reason  to  those  who  are  still  drinking  from 
the  poisoned  cisterns.  All  living  beings  are  capable 
of  improvement,  and  may,  by  haste,  overtake  the 
most  advanced.  This  is  the  very  reason  why  God 
lets  men  live.  Not  only  are  we  ignorant  of  what 
passes  between  God  and  the  soul  of  the  impenitent 
sinner  who  appears  before  his  tribunal,  but  a  dense 
cloud  hides  from  our  eyes  our  own  individual  state. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  195 

What  human  being  has  ever  yet  known  whether  he 
was  adjudged  worthy  of  love  or  of  hatred,  and  how 
long  he  was  to  persevere  !  It  is  a  mystery  which 
even  the  angels  cannot  penetrate,  and  which  will 
remain  till  the  judgment-day  sunk  in  the  depths  of 
the  unfathomable  Trinity. 

No,  —  and  this  is  the  weightiest  of  those  consid- 
erations which  ought  to  reconcile  us  to  irreparable 
misfortunes,  —  we  could  not,  in  our  deeply  fallen 
state,  dispense  with  their  terrible  teaching,  or  that 
influence  of  theirs  which  tends  constantly  to  our 
deliverance.  If  there  were  no  irremediable  evils,  — 
evils,  that  is,  that  are  present  in  their  completeness 
in  the  depths  of  our  own  being,  —  nothing  could 
successfully  withstand  our  vicious  instincts.  Evil, 
with  a  fatal  fertility,  would  propagate  itself  unceas- 
ingly ;  and  there  would  be  no  influence  strong  enough 
to  fix  our  inconstant  thoughts  and  fickle  hearts. 

Ah,  let  us  not  be  always  forgetting  the  things  that 
we  believe  we  always  remember  !  Nothing  shows  us 
the  vanity  of  life  so  clearly,  as  those  poignant  ills 
which  stifle  and  rend  us,  and  are  momentarily  ap- 
peased only  to  reappear  and  seize  their  prey.  How 
plainly  they  say  to  us  that  joy  is  a  trivial  thing  in 
comparison  with  the  sway  that  sorrow  may  usurp  ! 
How  clearly  they  show  that  the  balance  is  disturbed 
between  loss  and  possession,  —  between  the  things 
that  cause  us  to  die  daily,  and  those  which  give  us 
an  illusive  sense  of  life  ! 


196  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 


All  thoughts  which  God,  in  his  goodness,  can 
desire  to  suggest  to  his  creatures,  seem  to  be  con- 
tained in  our  struggle  with  the  irreparable.  It  is 
the  divine  diapason  with  which  all  just  and  fail- 
estimates  are  in  harmony.  Temporary  ills  may 
reveal  the  Almighty,  enable  us  to  attain  a  partial 
end,  determine  to  some  brilliant  sacrifice,  or  incite  to 
virtuous  acts  ;  but  the  cases  are  rare  in  which  they 
produce  effects  that  are  integral  and  profound.  Slow- 
ly the  valleys  are  filled,  the  mountains  levelled,  the 
oceans  change  their  beds,  and  the  configurations  of 
the  earth  are  determined ;  and  slowly,  also,  is  regen- 
eration accomplished  in  the  human  soul.  It  is  this 
very  grief  of  yours,  which,  freeing  you  from  the 
bonds  of  self,  will  become  the  soul  of  your  devotion, 
and  render  your  piety  more  firm  and  your  course 
more  straight,  — which  is  already  bearing  you  instinc- 
tively to  the  realms  of  peace  and  freedom,  and  has 
become  at  once  the  ballast,  the  sail,  and  the  rudder 
of  your  voyage  toward  the  new  heavens  and  the  new 
earth.  This  suffering  that  follows  you  everywhere, 
which  you  no  longer  resist,  knowing  too  well  that  it 
cannot  leave  you,  hearken  unto  it  as  to  the  voice  of  a 
friend  and  guide,  for  ever  calling  to  you  in  the  depths 
of  your  being.  Translate  the  impressions  it  gives, 
penetrate  its  spirit,  trust  its  inspirations,  and  you 
will  presently  know  by  experience  that  nothing  con- 
duces more  powerfully  to  the  formation  of  the  new 


ON    RESIGNATION.  197 

and  inner  man,  than  the  clutch  of  a  sad  and  inexo- 
rable reality. 

We  will  not  review  the  whole  list  of  hopeless  ills. 
Who  does  not  know  them  to  be  infinite  in  number 
and  susceptible  of  a  thousand  unexpected  and  terrible 
combinations  ?  Suffice  it  to  say  that  a  spirit  of  genu- 
ine submission  can  reach,  soften,  and  subdue  them  all. 
The  lever  only  requires  for  a  fulcrum  a  steadfast  and 
childlike  confidence  in  the  divine  pity. 

Our  misfortunes,  of  whatever  nature,  may,  after 
all,  be  summed  up  in  the  impression  that  they  leave 
on  us  ;  and  it  is  precisely  in  the  character  of  this 
impression  that  all  merit  of  our  own  must  consist, 
because  this  is  the  only  point  where  it  is  given  us  to 
act.  External  events  furnish  us  sorrow  in  the  rough, 
and  we  must  labor  to  transform  it  as  we  would  any 
other  raw  material.  A  great  physician1  has  said, 
"  The  soul  makes  her  own  body."  We  may  say  with 
equal  truth,  The  soul  makes  her  own  sorrow.  She 
modifies  it,  causes  it  to  wear  her  own  colors,  or 
rather  imprints  upon  it  the  character  of  her  own 
guiding  law. 

Not  to  mention  exceptional  faults  and  their  con- 
sequences, the  share  which  our  own  shortcomings 
and  imperfections  have  in  the  bitterness  of  our  more 
real  afflictions  is  prodigious.  Their  unendurable 
element  is  almost  always  one  which  God  did  not 

l  Stalil. 


198  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

supply ;  and  frequently  a  pain  which  is  legitimate, 
and  in  itself  cruelly  intense,  requires  for  its  mitiga- 
tion, if  not  for  its  exorcisement,  only  one  more  per- 
sonal effort,  or  act  of  self-examination,  or  one  more 
step  towards  God. 

The  Lord  can  bring  the  greatest  good  out  of  the 
greatest  evil.  Let  us  walk  in  his  footsteps,  and 
by  the  light  of  his  precepts.  Let  us  transmute,  by 
means  of  a  true  and  deep  submission,  our  griefs 
into  graces,  our  trials  into  virtues,  our  every  sacri- 
fice into  an  offering,  till  we  ourselves  cease  to  be 
aught  but  a  hearty  and  free  oblation.  "Ah,"  says 
a  voice  most  dear  to  the  Catholic  faith,  "if  we  did 
but  know  how  to  conform  our  own  to  the  eternal 
mind,  in  lieu  of  being  only  patients,  we  might  at 
least  be  victims  !  "  l 


CHAPTER    V. 

ON    THE    DIFFICULTY    OF    RESIGNATION    TO    SORROWS 
CAUSED    BY    OUR    FELLOW-BEINGS. 

FAR  more  than  we  are  disposed  to  believe,  we  feel 
as  we  think ;  and  it  would  be  hard  to  estimate  how 
much  we  increase  the  power  and  intensity  of  our 
own  troubles  by  interesting  ourselves  in  them,  in- 
sisting that  we  do  well  to  bewail  them,  feeding  them 

l  Count  de  Maistre,  on  the  death  of  Eugene  de  Costa. 


ON   KESIGNATION.  199 

by  the  imagination  and  indulging  them  through  the 
refinement  and  susceptibility  of  our  hearts  ;  nor  how 
much,  on  the  other  hand,  the  genuineness  of  the 
most  sincere  impression  is  impaired  by  the  judgment 
which  shows  it  to  be  exaggerated  or  puerile. 

Let  us  be  watchful ;  for  the  active  hunger  of  our 
hearts  will  find  aliment  in  any  thing  :  we  are  capable 
of  seeking;  excitement  in  what  irritates  and  wounds, 

o 

as  well  as  in  what  flatters  and  fascinates.  Since  sin 
has  caused  us  to  live  in  ourselves,  through  that 
ardent  and  guilty  personality  which  substitutes  its 
own  false  and  passionate  unity ;  for  the  true  unity 
for  which  we  were  created,  bitterness  and  irritation 
influence  us  as  powerfully  as  the  charm  of  the  ten- 
derest  sentiments. 

Each  human  instinct  has  become,  since  the  orig- 
inal fall,  a  two-edged  sword.  By  its  power  of  an- 
tagonism, it  perpetually  engenders  its  opposite ;  and 
so  we  constantly  see  a  quenchless  thirst  for  what  is 
sharp  and  bitter,  proceeding  out  of  a  great  need  of 
happiness,  and  hatred  born  of  love. 

People  of  lofty  intelligence,  who  look  at  things 
from  a  human  point  of  view,  generally  make  their 
philosophy  to  consist  in  bravely  bearing  the  reverses 
brought  about  by  circumstance  ;  and  their  honor,  in 
keenly  resenting  the  pains  which  come  to  them 
through  human  agency.  Whether  the  pride  or  the 
heart  suffers  thereby,  we  exalt  this  excessive  sensi- 
bility of  ours ;  and  while  dissimulating  our  weakness 


200  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

at  all  other  points,  we  should  be  almost  disposed  to 
exaggerate  it  in  this  respect. 

This  natural  estimate  is  not  wholly  unjust.  Nothing 
on  this  earth  has  received  so  high  a  place  as  man. 
Nothing  can  concern  us  more  nearly  than  our  kind, 
nothing  affect  us  more  closely  than  our  neighbor. 
Nothing  can  be  worth  more  to  a  human  heart  than 
another  heart.  Nothing  is  more  imposing  than  com- 
mon opinion.  In  reverses  which  are  merely  circum- 
stantial, events  seem  to  follow  their  own  passive 
course,  innocent  of  the  complications  they  may 
entail.  It  seems  as  if  they  could  not  have  been 
other  than  they  are.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
those  griefs  which  have  been  brought  upon  us  by 
individuals,  every  thing  assumes  an  intentional  char- 
acter. It  is  an  intelligence  which  rises  up  against 
us,  a  will  which  takes  an  attitude  of  special  hostil- 
ity to  ourselves.  The  interests  that  cross  our  own, 
the  difficulties  and  oppositions  that  arise,  the  springs 
that  are  touched,  —  all  these  things  are  managed  by 
a  hand  whose  every  motion  we  can  follow  and  calcu- 
late. Here,  of  course,  is  the  illusion  ;  for  these  men, 
though  masters  of  their  intentions,  and  never  losing 
their  responsibility,  are  as  much  the  instruments  of 
divine  justice  as  inanimate  and  unreasoning  objects. 
It  is  an  optical  delusion  which  causes  us  to  believe 
the  contrary,  but  one  which  cannot  be  resolved  and 
dispelled,  save  by  eyes  accustomed  to  the  sacred 
and  visible  darkness  of  faith. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  201 


The  ways  are  infinite  in  which  we  suffer  by  others' 
means ;  and,  firstly,  by  their  faults.  Some  of  these 
I  admit  are  very  trying ;  and  yet  does  not  the  really 
keen  and  often  intolerable  part  of  this  kind  of  suffer- 
ing come  from  ourselves,  and  may  it  not  be  our  own 
faults  which  cause  us  to  suffer  so  much  by  those  of 
others?  We  should  be  more  at  ease  if  we  were 
unmoved  by  the  wrongs  we  suffer,  and  this  is  the 
only  element  of  trouble  which  puts  us  at  the  mercy 
of  the  aggressor.  If  this  is  so,  let  us  turn  our  at- 
tention to  those  accomplices  in  evil  who  make  us 
enemies  to  ourselves.  We  can  act  efficiently  only 
upon  ourselves  ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  easier  and  more 
desirable  to  reform  ourselves  than  others.  Let  us 
redouble  our  indulgence  toward  those  whose  defec- 
tion is,  we  feel,  likely  to  engender  our  aversion. 
Let  us  endeavor  to  temper  with  compassion  the 
sentence  of  justice,  reflecting  that  the  individuals 
who  have  engaged  and  been  vanquished  in  this  sad 
struggle,  inflict  upon  themselves  far  more  torture 
then  they  cause. 

And  let  iis  not  stop  here.  Those  defects  that  we 
recognize  and  note,  let  us  take  care  that  they  do  not 
bring  forth  faults.  Let  us  watch  kindly  over  others, 
to  shield  them  from  themselves,  to  remove  their  occa- 
sions of  falling,  to  prevent  the  outbreaks  to  which 
they  yield  and  whereby  God  is  so  easily  offended. 
But,  instead  of  this,  how  many  times  our  ill-humor 

9* 


202  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

has  excited  these  transgressions  !  What  malicious 
allusions  it  has  made,  what  harsh  reproaches  uttered, 
taking  as  a  personal  affront  that  which  belonged  only 
to  the  conditions  of  character  ! 

One  of  our  most  common  and  irrational  propensi- 
ties is  to  seek  for  an  offensive  intention  in  a  general 
disposition,  which  exposes  to  suffering  all  who  come 
in  contact  with  it ;  and  to  desire  to  enforce  the  duty 
of  amendment  in  others,  for  the  sake  of  our  own 
personal  comfort.  But  have  we  reflected  on  this 
thing?  What?  —  the  faults  which  a  man  does  not 
overcome  in  the  interest  of  his  own  conscience,  and 
his  eternal  safety,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  soul,  which, 
even  on  this  earth,  demands  their  conquest  in  the 
name  of  peace ;  for  God's,  who  unceasingly  ex- 
horts him  thereto,  —  shall  he  correct  these  because 
they  inconvenience  you?  Do  we  not  see  him  con- 
stantly wielding  them  against  himself  with  an  indis- 
putable capability  of  self-injury? 

It  has  often  been  said  that  self-interest  governs  the 
world.  This  is  only  true  with  many  reservations. 
The  free  but  perverted  will,  when  cool,  would  gladly 
resolve  to  listen  only  to  the  voice  of  self-interest ; 
but  in  evil,  as  in  good,  we  must  submit  to  our 
master.  The  freaks  and  vagaries  of  the  passions 
soon  defeat  our  purposes.  If  we  look  closely,  we 
shall  see  that  it  is  not  so  much  interest  as  passion 
that  governs  men ;  and  that  passion  almost  always 
holds  its  ground. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  203 

Is  there  a  scandal  or  an  irregularity  which  has  not 
its  lesson?  What  does  perfidy  teach  us?  That 
God  alone  cannot  lie  !  And  ingratitude  ?  That  God 
only  assumes  the  debts  of  those  who  have  themselves 
forgotten  them. 

And  for  those  griefs  above  all  griefs,  which  have 
belied  and  destroyed  every  hope  of  happiness,  and, 
gnawing  into  the  heart,  would  have  blighted  and 
perhaps  ruined  it  had  not  the  divine  sap  lent  its 
own  life  to  the  renewal  of  the  nobler  instincts, 
—  why  should  any  degree  of  wonderment  mingle 
with  a  sorrow  that  is  only  too  comprehensible?  Do 
we  not  know  that  the  human  being  is  to  find  his 
centre,  his  true  refuge,  nowhere  on  this  earth  ;  and 
that,  crossing  like  a  dove  the  sphere  of  the  affections, 
and  finding  his  true  end  in  none,  he  must  needs 
mount  ever  higher  before  he  can  find  rest?  Volabo 
ct  requiescam. 

"  We  seek  to  live  in  what  we  love." 1 

But  when  we  perceive  that,  of  so  many  lovers, 
there  are  so  few  whom  their  love  has  rendered  happy, 
is  it  difficult  to  understand  the  scope  of  that  law 
which  brands,  as  sinfully  and  unlawfully  employed, 
all  strength  which  is  wasted  in  glowing  desires,  in 
fixed  and  absolute  preconceptions,  and  in  what  has 
been  so  well  defined  as  "the  envious  poverty  of  an 
exclusive  love  "  ?  2 

1  St.  Augustine.  2  M.  Sainte-Beuve. 


204  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

The  sufferings  of  genuine  sensibility,  purified  from 
the  leaven  of  egotism,  are  of  another  sort;  but  the 
dangers  of  deception, — the  heavy  blows,  the  sad 
and  sudden  revelations,  the  wounds  inflicted  on  a 
trust  that  can  never  be  restored,  —  these,  it  is  by  no 
means  spared.  Reason  may  have  controlled  these 
sentiments  ;  imagination  may  have  but  the  slightest 
share  in  them ;  'tis  enough  to  have  opened  one's 
heart,  to  have  rested  on  that  of  another,  to  have 
expected,  to  have  hoped ;  and  we  lay  ourselves  open 
to  those  voluntary  or  involuntary  wrongs,  which 
reveal  the  weakness  much  more  than  the  malignity 
of  our  nature.  If  it  be  true  that  all  suffering  origi- 
nates in  love  of  some  kind,  it  is  equally  true  that  no 
love  is  free  from  suffering  ;  and  hence,  if  we  abandon 
ourselves  to  it,  do  we  not  pave  the  way  for  our  own 
mistakes,  and  make  ourselves  accomplices  in  our  own 
deception,  when  what  is  infinite  within  us  demands 
of  one  weak  heart  all  the  affection  needed  by  our  own  ? 

Man  would  fain  change  the  conditions  of  this 
mutable  and  perishable  world,  which  is  wrought  out 
of  vanity.  This  instinct  of  happiness,  left  to  man 
with  so  wise  and  lofty  a  purpose,  as  a  souvenir  of  the 
state  whence  he  has  fallen,  and  to  which  he  aspires, 
—  this  very  instinct,  misunderstood  as  it  is,  tends 
incessantly  toward  making  a  heaven  of  earth,  and  a 
possession  of  what  God  merely  lends  us.  The 
natural  man  is  not  exactly  impious,  but  he  is  essen- 
tially idolatrous.  His  worship  is  always  ready  for 


ON   RESIGNATION.  205 

the  object  of  his  taste  or  predilection.  Instead  of 
earning  the  happiness  of  heaven  by  effort,  as  a 
favor  and  compensation,  he  would  gladly  obtain  it 
in  this  world  by  the  haughty  and  imperious  methods 
of  an  indomitable  will.  He  deifies  all  that  he  loves, 
and  will  be  all  in  all  to  what  loves  him ;  and  if  the 
end  of  it  all  be  not  some  deadliest  mistake,  decep- 
tion or  imbitterment,  yet  the  griefs  which  enervate 
and  slowly  consume,  do  not  fail  him. 

This  same  instinct  shows  itself  in  those  Utopian 
schemes,  brilliant  and  impracticable,  which  deny 
at  the  outset,  that  sin  is  the  point  of  departure  for 
the  human  race,  or  its  destination  heaven.  And  so, 
building  upon  error,  they  arrive  at  absurd  con- 
clusions ;  as  if  the  lot  of  man  could  be  essentially 
changed  while  his  heart  remains  the  same  ! 

Man  is  urged  on  by  an  insatiable  desire  for  happi- 
ne.ss.  The  social  Utopia  turned  the  world  upside 
down,  decreeing  with  criminal  indifference  the  ruin, 
and  even  death,  of  the  present  generation,  in  view  of 
a  golden  age>  which  it  could  only  see  in  imagination 
across  destruction  and  debris.  Alas !  even  in  the 
fruitful  fields  of  high  Christian  hope,  Faith,  elsewhere 
submissive,  allows  the  thread  whereby  the  Church 
guides  all  her  children  through  every  labyrinth,  to 
hang  too  loosely  in  the  hands  ;  and  dreams  at  times 
of  a  new  garment  for  this  earth,  preferring  the 
transformation  of  the  gloomy,  shadowy  dungeon  to 


206  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

the  joy  of  quitting  it.  Always  this  earth !  Both 
with  the  millenarian  who  would  make  it  the  theatre 
of  heavenly  glories,  and  with  the  chimerical  reformer 
who  pursues  the  senseless  dream  of  impossible  equal- 
ity and  well-being.  But  this  earth,  which  they  would 
fain  make  a  permanent  abode,  and  the  ultimate  end 
of  man's  destiny,  is  but  a  temporary  place  of  trial. 
It  allows  of  no  joy,  save  that  of  practical  virtue  ;  and 
of  that  foretaste  of  happiness  that  is  given  us  that  we 
may  realize  its  insufficiency. 

While  we  move  in  the  world  of  impressions,  and 
engage  in  the  melee  with  all  the  blindness  of  im- 
providence, all  appearances  seem  real :  we  close  with 
the  first  comer,  and  self-possession  deserts  us  in  the 
storm  of  blows.  But  as  the  tumult  subsides,  the 
rapt  thought  regains  its  freedom.  We  observe,  and 
by  and  by  ask  ourselves  the  reason  why  feelings  are 
often  so  surely  balked  by  facts ;  why  so  many  joys 
are  shipwrecked  without  storm  or  reef ;  why  attempts 
of  the  most  opposite  nature  are  alike  foiled  by  the 
results ;  what  mean  these  perfectly  natural  causes, 
supernaturally  employed  ;  and,  in  short,  the  reason 
of  the  manifest  impossibility  of  explaining  any  thing 
on  human  grounds.  Thus  are  we  put  on  the  track 
of  that  Supreme  Will,  which  acts  at  once  conspicu- 
ously and  mysteriously,  stamping  all  its  lessons 
with  a  twofold  character,  just  as,  in  the  words  of 
Scripture,  there  is  always  an  historical  sense,  and  a 
mystical  sense,  which  is  its  soul. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  207 

If,  to  these  first  revelations,  succeed  formidable 
and  repeated  trials  ;  if  these  seemingly  universal  pains 
have  a  thousand  keen  and  jagged  points,  whose 
existence  we  never  suspect  till  their  ordinary  propor- 
tions receive  a  gigantic  development,  by  this  or  that 
secret  coincidence  with  the  dispositions  which  render 
them  special,  incisive,  and  poignant ;  if  these  marvel- 
lous sorrows  seem  to  have  eyes  which  enable  them  to 
aim  at  the  most  vulnerable  point,  ears  to  detect  each 
moan,  lips  wherewith  to  render  their  language  more 
intelligible ;  if  they  find  out  sensitive  spots  in  your 
nature,  which  you  yourself  had  never  perceived ;  if 
their  action,  in  short,  is  at  once  all-torturing  and  all- 
illuminating  ;  and  if,  approaching  you  in  ever  nar- 
rower and  narrower  circles,  they  leave  you  at  last 
only  space  for  sacrifice  and  self-abnegation,  and  air 
enough  to  breathe  at  God's  side,  are  you  not  con- 
strained to  identify  their  author?  Human  nature  is 
doubtless  very  sagacious,  its  arm  is  mighty  to  wound, 
but  it  strikes  heavily  in  lieu  of  striking  home ;  and 
how  different  is  the  intelligence  which  directs  its  blows 
from  the  firm,  sure  hand  of  the  great  Archer  !  .  .  . 

At  the  culminating  point  of  trial  this  consoling 
clairvoyance  begins ;  for  it  is  here  that  God  reveals 
himself,  beneath  the  mask  of  human  dispositions 
which  he  moves,  works,  and  directs  to  his  own  pur- 
poses. Here  it  is  that  all  rebellion  and  impatience 
against  the  external  agent  seem  to  border  on  sacri- 
lege ;  and  the  divine  intervention  becomes  so  manifest 


208  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

that,  even  in  the  form  of  chastisement,  it  strengthens 
our  confidence,  as  once  the  monarch's  presence  suf- 
ficed to  insure  the  pardon  of  the  condemned. 

While  occupied  with  those  who  suffer,  we  come  too 
close  to  those  who  cause  suffering,  not  to  address  a 
few  words  to  these  also.  If  God  knows  how  to  ex- 
tract good  from  evil ;  if  relative  good,  with  its  richest 
consequences,  may  result  from  the  sorrows  we  en- 
dure, —  there  is  naught  among  all  the  marvellous 
transmutations,  possible  and  providentially  foreseen, 
which  can  reassure  those  who  inflict  suffering.  They 
assume  and  keep  the  responsibility  of  their  acts. 
The  victim  has  often  owed  to  the  executioner  the 
lofty  rank  he  occupies,  but  the  role  of  the  executioner 
does  not,  therefore,  become  more  enviable. 

Here,  then,  is  the  miracle  of  resignation.  It 
makes  the  sorrows  we  owe  to  personal  agency  trans- 
parent, and  shows  us  God  behind  them.  From  the 
moment  when  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Saviour 
through  the  light  veil  of  men  and  events,  the  most 
intentional  and  direct  offences  and  injuries  are  but 
the  divine  finger,  indicating  the  way  which  leads  to 
future  bliss.  Our  griefs  still  cause  us  to  suffer,  but 
they  have  lost  their  sting.  From  the  rank  of  mas- 
ters our  enemies  have  descended  to  that  of  instru- 
ments, and  we  see  those  obeying  who  dream  that  they 
command. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  209 

Yet,  let  us  pause  at  that  word  enemies,  nor  allow 
it  to  have,  in  the  pious  heart,  its  too  easy  and  com- 
mon acceptation.  An  enemy?  Of  all  accidents,  this 
is  the  rarest.  A  restless  and  susceptible  personality 
renders  us  hard  and  suspicious  toward  all  with  whom 
we  come  in  contact.  What  is  not  humane  appears 
hostile:  we  see  a  grim  opposition  in  all  unflattering 
impressions ;  and  one  needs  but  to  overstep  the 
bounds  of  equity  to  exhibit  in  our  eyes  a  revolting 
severity.  "  Oh,  my  friends/'  cried  Plato,  "  there  are 
no  friends  !  "  "  Oh,  you  who  suppose  yourselves  my 
enemies,"  I  would  rather  say,  "  you  are  not  my  en- 
emies." You  wound  me  and  you  rend  me,  and,  it 
may  be,  you  will  kill  me  ;  but  you  see  not,  you  know 
not,  the  evil  that  you  do.  Human  levity,  far  more 
than  human  malignity,  is  the  cause  of  all  those  sinis- 
ter effects  which  we  think  to  explain  by  hatred  only. 
What  enemy  has  ever  done  us  more  harm  than  we 
have  done  ourselves?  and  it  is  not  exactly  self-love 
that  we  lack. 

The  idleness  and  weakness  which  allow  us  to  judge 
by  deceitful  appearances  ;  the  prejudice  against  which 
we  will  take  no  precautions ;  a  failure  in  kindness 
and  justice,  such  as  the  best  and  fairest-minded  are 
not  secure  against,  —  what  incentives  to  wrong,  what 
snares  to  the  feet  of  justice  they  are  !  And,  among 
those  who  exercise  influence  or  authority  over  others, 
there  is  but  one  step  from  a  false  judgment  to  the 
most  appalling  consequences. 


210  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

We  explain  all  things  by  malevolence ;  but  to 
measure  this  malevolence  by  the  magnitude  of  the 
evil  we  endure,  is  another  of  the  illusions  caused 
by  our  preoccupation  with  self.  We  always  arm 
with  wrath  or  hate  the  hand  that  strikes  us  ;  and, 
if  the  truth  were  unveiled,  how  would  it  surprise 
us  to  find  that  the  arrows  which  pierce  us  were 
shot  at  random,  and  that  not  merely  no  remorse,  but 
almost  no  thought,  has  been  given  to  the  moment 
which  has  caused  us  to  undergo  a  thousand  torments  ! 
Ah,  how  much  light  is  spared  to  evil-doers,  that  they 
may  not  be  as  culpable  as  they  are  senseless  ! 

Where  is  the  man  who  is  so  unhappy  as  to  know 
all  the  harm  he  has  done  ?  That  the  powerful  should 
be  thus  ignorant,  is  but  natural ;  but  the  least,  the 
obscurest,  have  they  this  knowledge?  Do  I,  O  my 
God  !  —  pitiful  and  utterly  insignificant  I,  —  do  I 
know  all  the  ills  I  have  caused,  the  burdens  I  have 
made  heavy,  the  hopes  I  have  deceived,  the  abundance 
and  bitterness  of  the  tears  I  have  caused  to  flow  ?  Of 
all  the  mysteries  of  this  life,  the  deepest  is  the  entan- 
glement of  destinies.  The  possible  range,  the  imme- 
diate effect,  the  remote  consequences  and  the  reaction 
of  our  faults,  our  example,  our  course  of  life ;  the 
countless  times,  and  the  thousand  and  one  ways,  in 
which  we  have  injured  interests,  minds,  souls,  and  — 
who  knows?  —  perhaps  even  hearts  that  loved  us, 
and  were  more  deserving  than  we,  - —  of  all  these 
things  we  are  profoundly  ignorant. 

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE,  Aug  22,  1842. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  211 

CHAPTER   VI. 

HOW,  IN  THE  WORLD  AND  OUT  OF  IT,  EVERY  THING  AND 
EVERY  BEING,  EXCEPT  MAN,  ACCOMPLISHES  GOD*S 
WILL,  AND  KEEPS  IN  THE  PLACE  ASSIGNED  IT. 

To  walk  in  God's  ways,  to  belong  to  him,  to  be 
what  he  has  willed  we  should  be,  and  one  day  to  lose 
ourselves  in  him,  —  these  are  our  only  reasonable  de- 
sires. All  others,  though  natural,  are  only  legitimate 
and  permitted.  If  we  cast  an  eye  over  the  visible 
and  invisible  universe,  —  on  the  spiritual  beings  who 
occupy  the  space  above  us  which  separates  earth  from 
heaven,  and  on  the  animate  creatures  which  move  on 
its  surface  or  in  its  bosom,  — we  behold  an  innumer- 
able throng  of  creatures,  differing  among  themselves 
in  rank,  right,  and  privilege,  but  all  faithfully  realiz- 
ing the  thought  they  represent,  and  content  with  the 
place  assigned  them. 

Enclosed  within  their  appointed  spheres,  they  run 
their  course ;  and  the  inherent  power  of  each  is  dis- 
played in  due  order  and  measure,  by  the  regularity 
of  its  movements  in  relation  to  those  harmonies  which 
constitute  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  nature.  Thus, 
the  countless  tribes  of  the  celestial  hierarchy  —  the 
happy  immortals  who  have  each  their  banner  and 
their  name  —  never  dispute  among  themselves  for 
glory  and  precedence.  The  direct  tie  which  binds 
them  to  their  Master  suffices  for  their  felicity  ;  and 
they  seek  not  to  measure  it  by  any  jealous  compari- 


212  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

son.  Each  sacred  phalanx  chants  the  Creator's 
praises  with  as  much  ardor  as  if  it  alone  were  called 
to  celebrate  them ;  and  the  angel  choirs  who  glorify 
the  everlasting  beatitudes,  and  reveal  the  transports 
thereof,  add  to  the  number  of  their  joys  the  adoration 
which  they  would  fain  infuse  into  all  the  universe. 

Love  in  heaven  seeks  diffusion  as  much  as  the 
tender  passion  on  earth  desires  to  be  exclusive.  The 
children  of  light  are  true  to  its  essence,  which  is  lav- 
ished without  loss,  and  enriched  by  accumulation. 
The  souls  of  men,  after  they  pass  into  celestial  beati- 
tude, abjure  all  rivalry,  all  ambitious  instincts.  Let 
us  listen  to  the  secrets  of  those  happy  souls,  as  re- 
vealed by  their  inspired  song.1 

1  Dante,  Paradise,  Canto  III. 

"  Ma  dimmi ;  noi  che  siete  qui  felici  "  Yet  inform  me,  ye  who  here 

Desiderate  voi  piu  alto  loco  Are  happy,  long  ye  for  a  higher  place, 

Per  piii  vedere,  o  per  piu  forvi  amice.  More  to  behold  and  more  in  love  to 

dwell? 
Con  quell'  altr'  ombre  pria  sorrise  un  She,  with  those  other  spirits,  gently 

poco  smiled ; 

Da  indi  mi  ripose  tanto  lieta  Then  answered  with  such    gladness, 

Ch'  arder  parea  a'  amor  nel  primo  foco ;  that  she  seemed 

With  love's  first  flame  to  glow:  Bro- 

ther,  our  will 

Fratre,  la  nostra  volonta  quieta  Is  in  composure  settled  by  the  power 

Virtu  di  carita  che  fa  volerne  Of  charity,  who  makes  us  will  alone 

Sol  quel  ch'  anemo  et  a'  altro  non  a         That  we  possess,  and  naught  beyond 
asseta.  desire. 

If  we  should  wish  to  be  exalted  more, 

Se  disiassimo  esser  piu  superne  Then  must  our  wishes  jar  with  the 

Foran  discordi  gli  nostri  desideri  high  will 

Dal  voler  di  colui  che  qui  ne  cerne  Of  Him  who  sets  us  here,  which,  in 

these  orbs, 
Che  vedrai  non  capere  in  questi  giri."  Thou  wilt  confess  not  possible." 

Gary's  Translation. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  213 

As  we  descend  from  higher  to  lower  things,  nature 
reiterates  the  same  profound  and  positive  teachings 
at  each  step  of  the  scale.  Every  kingdom  and  every 
species,  and  every  individual  of  such  kingdom  or 
species,  remains  within  its  own  limits,  without  altera- 
tion or  encroachment ;  and  the  different  orders  of  na- 
ture touch,  but  do  not  mingle.  Nowhere  in  nature  do 
we  find  a  tendency  to  quit  the  conditions  on  which 
existence  has  been  received,  in  search  of  others,  or  to 
depopulate  the  lower  ranks  by  an  upward  movement. 
Star,  ocean,  flower,  and  bird,  all  desire  to  be  what 
they  are,  and  proclaim  their  universal  acquiescence  in 
solemn  and  affecting  language. 

In  truth,  it  is  only  by  a  fiction  that  we  attribute 
will  to  the  elements  of  which  our  universe  is  com- 
posed ;  but  the  order  and  regularity  which  they  main- 
tain, betray  the  ruling  plan.  And  does  not  this  plan 
give  us  the  idea  of  God  ?  The  world  and  all  that  it 
contains  being  the  expression  of  one  thought  and 
stamped  with  one  seal,  does  it  not  say,  —  as  each 
planet  moves  in  its  orbit,  as  the  ocean  obeys  its 
bounds,  as  flower  and  bird  everywhere  reproduce 
the  same  spectacle  of  submission,  —  that  God  pursues 
the  same  course  in  the  moral  as  in  the  physical 
world,  and  defines  for  nations,  as  for  individuals,  the 
limits,  the  duties,  and  the  services  that  he  imposes 
on  them  ? 

A  submissive  universe  is  assuredly  a  noble  specta- 
cle :  but  the  universe  has  no  will,  —  or,  rather,  its 


214  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

will,  if  it  had  one,  would  be  chained ;  and  God  waits 
to  be  glorified  by  a  free  consent.  And  shall  man 
alone  interrupt,  by  his  revolt  and  his  impatience, 
a  concert  so  sublime?  .  .  . 

When  God  speaks  to  us,  and  we  choose  rather  to 
listen  to  the  father  of  lies;  when,  instead  of  the 
beatitudes  of  the  gospel,  we  value  and  pursue  only 
those  forms  of  prosperity  which  it  disdains  and 
teaches  us  to  dread ;  when,  instead  of  desiring  that 
God's  will  may  be  done,  we  strive  passionately  to 
secure  our  own,  —  our  instincts  may  be  genuine,  but 
they  are  perverted. 

Man  is  not  wrong  to  aim  at  happiness,  but  he  errs 
in  the  means  he  employs  to  attain  it.  And  nations 
fall  into  the  selfsame  snare,  when  they  take  ambition 
for  their  motive,  and  glory  for  their  end,  and  trust  in 
force,  or  in  Utopian  dreams. 

And  so,  sometimes,  we  see  revolt  provoked,  by 
intentions  that  are  generous  and  upright,  —  only  too 
human, — when  nothing  is  ripe  for  the  combat,  nor 
for  the  consequences  of  victory,  if  it  be  won.  The 
result  is,  that  men  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  their 
own  success,  and  turn  against  those  who  have  se- 
cured it ;  or,  on  the  supposition  of  a  defeat,  fatigue, 
humiliation,  that  brute  force,  which  is  confessedly 
weak,  and  the  absence  of  that  principle  of  duty, 
which  alone  can  sustain,  plunge  them,  first  into  dis- 
couragement, then,  and  soon,  into  dependence  and 
slavery. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  215 

Doubtless  some  people  are  more  to  be  pitied  than 
others.  There  are  those  whose  condition  wounds 
the  most  indefeasible  rights  of  conscience  and  reason, 
whose  misfortunes  are  immoral,  in  that  they  entail 
consequences  most  deadly  to  the  character ;  but  time 
alone  can  lawfully  right  such  wrongs.  No  true 
estimate  has  yet  been  made  of  what  is  needful  to 
insure  some  sort  of  redress  for  the  greatest  excesses. 
Equity,  as  regards  flagrant  injustice,  makes  its  way 
blindly  in  the  mind  of  the  masses,  like  a  slow  and 
gradual  gestation ;  but  its  day  will  come. 

Do  not,  therefore,  construct  an  earthly  Jerusalem, 
whence  all  ills  are  to  be  banished,  and  where  all  bliss 
as  well  as  all  goodness  is  to  remain  fixed  for  ever. 
It  is  an  impious  mistake  to  stifle  the  thought  of 
heaven  by  striving  to  bring  heaven  down  to  earth. 
If  we  would  lighten  our  exile,  let  us  render  our 
prison  endurable  :  embellish  it  if  we  can,  make  it 
wholesome  at  all  events,  but  let  us  not  dream  of 
transforming  it  into  a  palace  and  a  tabernacle  of 
cloudless  happiness.  No  :  that  happiness  awaits  for 
its  development  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth. 

The  attempt  to  realize  any  Utopia  has  almost 
always  been  a  work  of  destruction.  All  ardent 
desires  for  happiness,  pursued  in  defiance  of  duty  or 
prudence,  invariably  become  sources  of  calamity. 
All  alike  imply  misapplied  power,  ignorance  of  size 
and  proportion,  and  a  blind  encroachment  of  our 


216  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

present  on  our  future  lot.  God  has  made  the  soul 
of  man  so  large  and  deep,  that  it  feels  cramped,  if 
we  give  it  no  opening  to  the  infinite ;  and,  be  the 
case  that  of  a  nation  or  an  individual,  an  explosion 
will  ensue,  after  the  deplorable  fashion  of  all  long- 
repressed  power. 

It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  we  here  repre- 
sent the  problem  of  living  in  one  world,  with  the 
instincts  of  another ;  and  the  question  to  be  solved 
is,  how  the  child  of  eternity  shall  find  the  way  to  his 
royal  home.  All  else  is  secondary. 

In  our  own  age  especially,  that  desire  to  rise, 
which  has  never  deserted  human  nature,  has  received 
an  alarming  development,  — the  result  of  the  multi- 
plied chances  of  elevation,  which  all  perturbed  epochs 
present.  The  craving  to  do  something  other  than 
they  are  doing,  and  to  rise  above  the  condition  of 
their  fathers,  is  so  general  among  men,  that,  if  the 
power  of  action  equalled  the  audacity  of  desire, 
the  whole  social  hierarchy  would  be  subverted,  and 
the  lower  ranks  would  be  utterly  vacated. 

To  these  incentives  of  pride  is  joined  a  vague 
unrest, — a  longing  like  the  sick  man's,  not  to  be 
better,  but  to  be  different.  All  that  we  have  not, 
and  all  to  which  we  aspire,  becomes,  along  with  the 
regrets  to  which  we  yield,  the  object  of  actual  wor- 
ship. Our  will  in  such  a  case  is  an  exact  coun- 
terpoise to  the  destiny  which  God  has  appointed 
us.  ...  Thus  man  —  starting  from  a  point,  firm 


ON   RESIGNATION.  217 

and  indisputable,  because  it  is  within  him,  and  is  re- 
produced without  exception  in  all  his  kind  —  misses 
his  way,  and  fails  of  his  end,  or  strays  from  it, 
because  he  neglects  the  star  which  might  have  guided 
him  safely.  The  horizon  toward  which  he  steers, 
is  a  moving  one,  and  conspires  with  all  things  else  to 
beguile  him. 

Truth  is  one ;  but  when  it  falls  under  the  condi- 
tions of  our  complex  nature,  it  is  translated  into 
mixed  instincts,  which  fail  to  render  its  inspirations, 
and  are  misled  by  lying  mirages.  In  what  trifles  do 
we  make  the  happiness  for  which  we  were  created 
to  consist  I  How  we  degrade  it !  And  the  ever- 
insatiate  ambition  of  new  rank  and  honor,  and  that 
other  ambition,  less  coarse,  but  quite  as  unchris- 
tian, of  influence,  success,  and  consideration ;  that 
longing  to  act  upon  minds,  when  it  is  not  to  God 
that  we  would  lead  them, — have  we  not  here  the 
rough  sketch  of  that  zeal  for  God's  house,  which 
devoured  the  prophet? 

We  want  to  be  free,  rich,  happy,  beloved,  learned. 
These  are  perfectly  legitimate  desires  ;  but  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  we  cheat  ourselves  of  freedom, 
wealth,  happiness,  love,  and  knowledge.  What  we 
seek  in  vain  on  earth,  we  should  infallibly  find  in 
God.  He  spares  no  pains,  surely,  to  put  us  again 
and  again  in  the  right  way.  He  speaks  to  us  as 
clearly  by  the  aching  void  at  our  hearts,  by  the  pro- 

10 


218  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

found  ennui  which  pursues  us,  by  the  blunders  which 
we  make  for  ourselves,  and  the  deceptions  which  we 
owe  to  others,  as  by  the  unspeakable  attractiveness 
of  his  grace.  Unwilling  either  to  comprehend  heaven 
clearly,  or  to  desire  it  strongly,  we  travesty  it,  in 
obedience  to  all  the  lures  of  passion. 

Ah  !  believe  me,  it  is  best  to  have  confidence  in 
what  is.  What  is  has  the  force  of  law.  What  is 
has,  if  not  the  sanction  of  God,  at  least  his  permis- 
sion. And  what  would  we  substitute  for  it?  Our 
own  ideas,  which  have  deceived  us  a  thousand  times, 
and  of  whose  range  and  consequences  we  are  alike 
ignorant.  If  by  chance  we  are  actually  left  to 
choose,  we  hesitate  and  inquire  in  vain,  and  cannot 
compass  the  most  trivial  arrangement ;  and  ever 
afterward  our  desire  is  for  clear  and  sure  views, 
when  there  is  a  question  of  any  of  those  myriad 
combinations,  whereby  the  throng  of  beings  who 
describe  the  same  orbit,  fulfil,  unconsciously  to  them- 
selves, the  designs  of  Providence. 

We  arrive,  however  unexpectedly,  at  a  rigorous 
demonstration  of  the  fact,  that  the  object  of  our 
repugnance  is  almost  always  the  very  thing  which 
is  most  indispensably  and  indubitably  necessary  to 
us.  In  these  bonds,  which  seem  to  constrain  too 
much  your  faculties,  your  instincts  and  your  talents, 
you  may  be  sure  of  moving  easily,  if  they  are  imposed 
by  duty.  That  devouring  unrest  of  yours  shall 
be  a  lamp  to  your  feet.  That  affliction  it  was  which 


ON   RESIGNATION.  219 

alone  could  have  made  you  break  with  the  world, 
and  enticed  you  from  its  influence. 

We  are  thoroughly  acquainted  only  with  the  an- 
noyances of  the  part  which  we  ourselves  bear,  the 
situation  where  we  are,  and  the  evil  which  oppresses 
us;  but  do  not  wisdom  and  good  sense  consist 
in  the  reflection  that  every  lot  has  its  trials,  every 
situation  its  annoyances,  and  that  every  organiza- 
tion bears  in  its  own  breast  the  destructive  princi- 
ple? When  you  think  of  the  obstacles  in  your  path, 
and  the  griefs  which  cause  you  to  suffer,  and  tell 
their  number,  however  great  it  may  be,  can  you 
not  offset  against  them  the  infinitude  of  contrary 
chances  ? 

Can  you  say,  that  if  this  grief,  this  anxiety,  whose 
gnawing  fixity  absorbs  you,  were  removed,  you 
would  be  left  for  ever,  or  even  for  any  great  length 
of  time,  in  entire  satisfaction  and  profound  security? 
And  if,  on  the  other  hand,  your  suffering  is  to  be 
continued  or  renewed  in  one  way  or  another,  —  since 
suffering  is  the  inevitable  law,  of  what  consequence, 
after  all,  are  the  manner  and  way? 

When  you  undertake  to  work  out  your  own« destiny, 
you  confide  to  your  own  single  strength  the  care  of 
softening  its  severity.  God  puts  consolation  only 
where  he  has  first  put  pain,  and  causes  his  mercies 
to  abound  nowhere,  save  in  the  furrow  traced  by 
penitence  and  laborious  effort.  You  are  at  once  too 
poor  and  too  great :  too  poor  in  your  views,  for  they 


220  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

do  not  reach  the  true  horizon ;  too  great  to  be  able 
to  be  your  own  reward. 

Let  us  eliminate  from  our  lives  all  that  is  not 
marked  with  the  seal  of  the  divine  will.  "Every 
man,"  says  St.  Gregory,  of  Nyssa,  "is  the  painter 
and  the  sculptor  of  his  own  life."  In  the  midst  of 
the  original  endowments  of  destiny,  over  which  we 
have  apparently  no  control,  we  do  not  realize  — weak, 
fettered,  and  clogged  as  we  are — how  great  our  power 
still  is. 

Man  resisting  God,  is  Satan  in  his  colossal  de- 
formity. Man  obedient,  aids  God  in  his  work. 
Nature,  when  she  issued  from  the  hands  of  the 
Creator,  obeyed  once  for  all.  Man's  true  glory  is 
to  obey  God  each  moment  and  for  ever. 

Doubtless,  it  belongs  to  man  to  grow  and  mount 
unceasingly.  The  desire  of  development,  but  of  an 
internal,  purely  moral,  regular,  and  peaceful  devel- 
opment, which  is  but  the  law  that  summons  him  to 
perfect  his  being,  is  in  the  front  rank  of  his  attributes. 
Observe  it  is  only  the  inner  man  who  can  grow 
unceasingly,  and  has  an  indefinite  capability  of  ad- 
vancem£nt.  With  the  carnal  man  the  case  is  exactly 
reversed.  The  confines  of  life  and  of  matter  ham- 
per him  on  all  sides. 

Between  these  two  contrary  attractions,  there  is 
but  one  ambition  worthy  of  us  ;  that,  namely,  which 
insures  our  progress  in  the  spiritual  life.  And  even 
here  we  must  consult  the  will  of  God,  learn  what 


ON    RESIGNATION.  221 

lie  wants  of  us,  and  to  what  place  he  assigns  us. 
Wherever  it  may  be,  we  must  be  content  therein. 
How  dare  we  choose  among  the  mansions  of  the 
heavenly  Father?  To  be  a  worm  of  the  dust  in 
obedience  to  God's  designs  is  better  in  the  eyes  of 
wisdom,  than  to  have  the  lofty  nature  of  angels,  and 
be  abandoned  to  one's  self. 

Humility  is  as  becoming  in  sacred  things  as  in  all 
others.  Let  us  check  the  vehemence  of  our  desires, 
even  when  they  take  the  form  of  a  legitimate  wish 
for  greater  perfection.  Let  us  joyfully  acquiesce  in 
seeing  the  spirituality  of  our  brethren  surpass  our 
own  ;  and,  without  dwelling  upon  ourselves,  let  us  be 
sensitive  only  about  what  honors  God.  He  knows 
what  we  need,  and  to  what  he  calls  us ;  and  he  alone 
knows  it.  Thus,  like  any  other  master,  he  chooses 
his  servant,  and  intends  to  be  heard  and  served  as 
pleases  him,  not  as  pleases  the  servant. 

There  is  no  method  which  the  Scripture  does  not 
try  to  turn  us  from  proud  thoughts,  even  of  good 
things ;  proud,  not  because  they  soar  so  high,  but 
relatively  to  our  own  strength,  which  we  ought  to 
have  been  able  to  estimate  more  truly. 

We  are  reminded  of  our  powerlessness  by  every 
invitation  which  is  given  us  to  advance  ;  and  humility 
is  always  set  before  us  as  the  palladium  of  our  best 
intentions.  A  thousand  passages  of  Holy  Writ  at- 
test it. 


222  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

One  of  the  titles  to  the  celestial  pity  adduced  by 
the  Royal  Prophet  is  this  :  — 

"  Lord,  my  heart  is  not  haughty  nor  my  eyes  lofty  : 
neither  do  I  exercise  myself  in  great  matters,  nor  in 
things  too  high  for  me." 

"  Surely  I  have  behaved  and  quieted  myself,  as  a 
child  that  is  weaned  of  its  mother :  my  soul  is  even 
as  a  weaned  child." 

And  it  is  because  he  feels  that  God  bears  witness 
to  that  humility  which  he  makes  his  sole  claim,  that 
he  cries,  in  a  transport  of  joy,  — 

"Let  Israel  hope  in  the  Lord  henceforth  and 
for  ever." 

And  does  not  the  gospel  in  its  turn  admonish  us 
that  not  one  of  us  can  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature  ? 

Happy  dependence  of  our  earthly  condition,  which, 
through  the  very  need  we  have  of  blessing,  renders 
the  Benefactor  more  present  and  more  dear  !  Blessed 
temporary  indigence  which  enables  us  to  say  with 
St.  Ignatius,  "  We  lack  much  that  we  may  not  lack 
God." 

Let  the  part  which  has  been  assigned  us  in  this 
world  be  held  very  precious,  even  in  its  most  insig- 
nificant details.  Let  us  prefer,  though  we  may  not 
have  chosen  it,  all  that  we  must  accept.  Let  the 
intellect  be  more  and  more  reconciled  to  the  lot  of 
those  little  ones  who  have  received  such  merciful 
promises ;  and  let  us  shrink  from  envying  the  lot 
of  the  great  to  which  such  formidable  menaces  are 


ON   RESIGNATION.  223 

attached.  All  may  rise.  All  may  fall.  And  what 
signifies  being  first  or  last  in  the  eyes,  or  on  the 
breast,  of  Him  who  is  himself  the  beginning  and  end 
of  all  things. 

O  my  God,  I  desire  not  the  glory  of  heaven  !  I 
ask  not  to  reign  there,  but  only  there  to  serve  thee.- 
Ah,  i£  there  were  but  lay-sisters  in  heaven,  and  I 
might  be  one  ! 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THAT   THERE   IS    AN    EXCESS    OF    GRIEF    WHICH    BELIES 
THE    WORDS    OF    SUBMISSION. 

WE  must  not  dissimulate  the  fact,  that  to  abandon 
one's  self  utterly  to  excessive  grief,  and  to  consent 
to  that  excess,  renders  illusory  all  the  words  and 
deeds  whereby  we  think  to  express  resignation.  What 
signifies  submission  on  the  lips,  if  resistance  is  alive 
in  the  depths  of  the  heart,  —  if  God  is  but  a  God 
who  pronounces  judgments,  and  our  trust,  reverential 
though  it  be,  remains  inert  and  sterile  !  Suffering  is 
like  death  ;  it  must  be  whether  we  will  or  no  :  but  the 
distinguishing  mark  of  the  Christian  is  that  he  brings 
to  necessity  what  transfigures  and  annihilates  it. 

Doubtless  the  Christian  suffers.  He  suffers  deeply  ; 
for  there  is  dignity  in  suffering,  and  all  dignities  are 
his  :  nay,  more,  he  suffers  perpetually  ;  for  God,  who 


224  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

made  consolation,  did  not  make  oblivion.  Yet  while 
we  acknowledge  the  suffering  to  which  man  is  con- 
demned by  sin,  the  words  of  the  holy  books  are 
explicit  and  unanimous  in  proclaiming  the  reign  of 
joy  in  this  vale  of  tears.  "  He  that  is  of  a  merry 
heart,"  saith  the  preacher,  "hath  a  continual  feast." 
And  does  not  the  apostle  command  us  to  "rejoice 
evermore"?  The  saints  speak  the  same  language, 
"Let  piety  weep,"  said  St.  Paulinus,  "but  let  faith 
rejoice  evermore." 

But  would  not  the  Scriptures,  which  reconcile  all 
contradictions,  here  assert  the  most  flagrant  of  all, 
were  there  not  joys  in  piety  which  predominate  over 
all  afflictions,  enveloping  and  clothing  them  anew, 
like  that  garment  of  immortality  which,  in  the  words 
of  St.  Paul,  the  mortal  is  to  put  on?  Faith,  in  its 
various  degrees,  is  also  a  tree  which  may  be  known 
by  its  fruits ;  so  that  we  no  longer  sorrow  "  as 
those  who  have  no  hope,"  neither  are  disquieted 
like  those  who  have  no  Father  in  heaven. 

What  changes  are  wrought  in  the  mind  by  a  single 
thought  of  Providence  and  immortality  !  What  be- 
comes of  the  present,  when  a  single  hope  arises? 
God  enters  by  means  of  his  inspirations  into  the 
heart  of  the  faithful,  and  graciously  admits  him  to 
the  closest  familiarity  with  himself.  And  out  of  the 
heart  of  such  a  life,  mingled  in  some  sort  with  that 
of  God,  how  can  we  fail  to  form  judgments  very 


ON   RESIGNATION.  225 

different  from  those  dictated  by  our  abandoned  and 
self-abandoning  nature  ! 

The  sudden  shock  and  sorrowful  overthrow  have, 
no  doubt,  great  claims  on  the  divine  indulgence ; 
yet,  if  piety  is  deep  and  mature,  and  that  which  con- 
stitutes spiritual  age  has  naught  to  do  with  the  num- 
ber of  the  years,  it  should  have  insured  the  blessing 
and  produced  the  effects  peculiar  to  itself;  gained  in 
velocity  so  to  speak,  and  even  in  spontaneity,  and 
reduced,  at  least  considerably,  the  number  of  our  ter- 
rible surprises.  It  is  well  said  that  impressions  do 
not  reason ;  and  what  seals  the  true  Christian  with 
peculiar  distinctness  is  not  merely  the  way  in  which 
he  resists  grief,  but  the  way  in  which  it  affects  him. 

The  habit  of  pious  moderation  shapes  the  whole 
man  anew,  and  insures  the  triumph  of  the  power  of 
Christianity ;  the  latter  being  supernatural  not  only 
in  the  truth  it  teaches,  but  also  in  the  effects  to  which 
it  gives  rise.  If,  in  souls  subdued  and  shaped  to  the 
sacred  yoke  of  faith,  the  very  first  impulse  may  be 
loyal  and  submissive,  has  not  God  the  right  to  de- 
mand as  much  when  space  for  reflection  has  inter- 
vened, when  some  sort  of  order  has  succeeded  to  the 
perturbation,  when,  in  a  word,  time,  that  mighty 
auxiliary  of  virtue,  has  been  able  to  act? 

What  shall  we  say,  then,  of  those  deep  ravages 
which  men  allow  to  be  wrought  within  them  ?  of 
those  violent  transports,  those  wasting  and  consuming 

10* 


226  WHITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

regrets,  those  sorrows  which  are  suitably  borne  exter- 
nally, but  carry  on,  all  the  same,  a  work  of  destruc- 
tion at  which  the  will  either  renders  a  kind  of  passive 
assistance,  or  calculates  and  applauds  its  effects  with 
a  sombre  inner  joy  ? 

When  excessive  suffering  causes  death,  even  in  the 
form  of  annihilation,  to  seem  a  deliverance,  does  not 
the  fact  reveal  the  guilty  character  of  a  grief  which 
makes  us  abjure  all  our  hopes?  And  is  not  that 
negative  suicide,  which  is  almost  as  grave  a  thing 
as  the  other,  which  is  consequent  upon  sorrow  long- 
continued,  enervating,  and  wearing  to  the  springs  of 
life,  — is  it  not  a  foe  whom  we  should  resist  with  all 
our  might,  if  it  plainly  shortens  or  trenches  on  the 
days  wherein  God  has  doubtless  planted  a  thousand 
germs  of  salvation? 

Do  we  reflect  how  impious  a  death  it  may  be  to  die 
of  grief  ?  Did  any  saint  ever  die  so  ? 

Men  are  peculiarly  affected  by  this  sort  of  death. 
They  admire  it  with  a  pious  idolatry,  deeming  it  the 
apotheosis  of  human  sensibility.  But  why  not  rather 
say  with  Saint  Bridget,  "The  fools  who  cry,  '  We 
would  sooner  die  than  yield  our  will ! ' '  In  vain  do 
they  say,  with  bowed  heads,  yet  unwilling  to  lift  up 
the  prostrate  soul,  "  We  adore  the  ways  of  God,  and 
he  alone  is  master."  Ah,  however  reverent  their 
silence  or  their  speech,  conscience  owns  that  this 
abandonment  to  sorrow,  this  uncontrolled  anguish, 
has  but  one  true  name,  and  that  is  —  murmur ! 


ON   RESIGNATION.  227 

And  this  murmur  is  not  merely  a  plaint ;  it  is, 
though  inarticulate,  an  accusation.  For  do  we  not 
accuse  God  of  being  an  unjust  Master,  when  we  in- 
timate that  he  lays  on  his  servants  burdens  too  heavy 
to  be  borne,  —  burdens  which  their  virtue  may  indeed 
support,  nor  suffer  the  escape  of  a  groan,  but  which 
crush  them  none  the  less  ?  Do  we  not  accuse  God  of 
ingratitude  when  we  allow  it  to  be  supposed  that  he 
does  that  of  which  many,  even  corrupt  men,  are  in- 
capable, and  that  he  suffers  those  to  fail  who  have 
given  themselves  to  him  ? 

And  when  the  enemies  of  that  God  of  justice  and 
also  of  meekness  laugh  at  his  thunderbolts,  dispute 
his  benefits,  proclaim  his  supreme  indifference,  you, 
his  believers,  his  servants,  his  friends,  know  not  how 
to  defend  him.  You  leave  the  impression  that,  in 
truth,  he  can  neither  love  his  own,  nor  provide  a  se- 
cret counterpoise  to  their  visible  afflictions ;  that  he 
deigns  neither  to  strengthen  nor  to  sustain ;  that, 
consequently,  we  can  feel  sure  of  nothing  but  his 
blows  ;  that,  powerless  or  faithless,  he  either  cannot 
or  will  not  comfort  us  ;  and,  finally,  that  the  consid- 
erations of  which  faith  is  born,  —  endowed,  perchance, 
with  a  feeble  and  limited  action,  —  cannot  cope  with 
cruel  events  and  severe  wounds.  God  will  justify 
himself  one  day,  but  we  must  justify  him  here. 

And  that  prostration  which  succeeds  acute  suffer- 
ing, that  melancholy  depression,  no  longer  charac- 


228  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

terized  either  by  the  startling  signs  or  the  dull 
mutterings  of  the  storm,  but  which  resolves  itself 
into  a  condition  in  which  the  soul  seems  overspread 
with  a  mourning  veil,  is  that  more  legitimate  in  the 
Christian's  eyes  ?  What !  you  attempt  to  set  forth  the 
shining  truths  of  the  divine  word,  the  magnificence  of 
its  revelations,  the  mercy  of  its  designs  ;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  you  allow  the  suspicion  that  God  cannot 
console,  that  he  has  no  treasure  in  reserve  wherewith 
to  soften  his  sternness,  and  that  the  sincerest  piety  is, 
after  all,  as  ineffective  as  the  vainest  philosophy. 

This  permitted  depression,  submissive  as  it  may 
appear,  is  none  the  less  a  guilty  defection,  and  a  silent 
protest  against  God's  decrees.  Ah  !  you  who  love 
him,  and  desire  his  glory  and  triumph,  reflect  that, 
when  sadness  overpowers  you,  you  become  the  place, 
the  occasion,  the  accomplices  of  his  defeat ;  that  it  is 
the  very  God  who  is  vanquished  in  your  persons  as 
often  as  your  love  and  faith  fail  to  rise  above  your 
grief!  Ah!  how  can  we  help  overcoming  sorrow, 
when  God  is  for  us  and  against  sorrow  ?  Does  not  our 
weakness  betray  a  languishing  faith,  and  prove  that, 
though  there  may  be  resignation  in  the  conscience,  it 
has  not  yet  penetrated  to  the  heart ;  that  is  to  say, 
that  the  self-immolated  victim  has  so  much  of  life 
left,  that  rebellion  still  ferments  within  him? 

Let,  then,  the  soul  that  has  been  touched  by  grace 
make  haste  to  overcome  these  failings ;  and,  more 


ON    RESIGNATION.  229 

faithful  than  Ananias,  yield  up  that  secret,  smart- 
ing grief  which  the  instinct  of  a  passionate  bitterness 
would  fain  make  the  heart's  last  idol. 

When  the  wind  of  earthly  lust  still  fans  the  face ; 
when  we  turn  our  eyes  on  perishable  things ;  when 
we  sit  down  at  the  feast  of  the  impious,  and  lend 
our  ears  to  the  accents  of  the  doubter ;  when,  in 
short,  we  seek  "the  happiness  of  men,"  —  then  it  is 
that  we  know  sorrow.  But  for  him  who  loves  and 
follows  thee,  O  my  God  !  grief,  a  phantom  of  man's 
raising,  does  not  exist.  There  is  naught  for  him  but 
love,  hope,  joy,  submission,  and  sacrifice.  Grief  is 
vanquished  as  well  as  death. 

Or,  rather,  this  grief  changes  its  character,  and 
recalls  the  sweet  and  sad  solemnity  which  the  Church 
throws  around  the  funeral  rites  of  little  children.  It 
is  death ;  but  the  words  and  the  chants  express  the 
assurance  of  a  blessed  life,  from  which  a  light  veil 
only  divides  us.  The  chants  are  sad  ;  the  exile  knows 
no  other ;  but  there  is  nothing  woful  or  heart-rending 
in  them.  Sin  is  not  there.  We  shed  many  tears, 
but  there  is  no  mourning ;  and,  for  prayers,  there  are 
canticles  of  joy. 

Even  so,  it  seems  to  me,  we  find  in  the  innocent 
little  one,  lying  motionless  in  his  coffin,  embalmed 
in  flowers,  a  fitting  emblem  of  the  Christian's  grief. 
For  the  child,  there  is  the  possession  of  God  ;  for  the 
Christian's  sorrow,  there  is  the  certainty  of  one  day 
possessing  Him.  The  child  has  gone  to  God;  God 


230  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

will  come  to  the  expectant  sorrow.  Sorrow  knows 
that  he  will  come ;  and,  though  he  delay  awhile,  still 
it  waits,  for  he  will  surely  come.  Veniet  et  non  tar- 
dabit.  And,  like  the  Church,  who  gives  her  voice 
for  these  sinless  souls,  who  form  the  milky  way  of 
the  heaven  of  souls,  Christian  sorrow — patient  of 
suffering,  impatient  of  deserving  to  suffer  —  is  more 
ready  with  ascription  than  with  invocation. 

The  effects  of  faith  are  not  strictly  confined  to  the 
realization  of  its  threatenings  and  promises  concern- 
ing a  future  life.  In  this  world,  also,  faith  bears 
blessed  fruit ;  and  the  earthly  happiness  of  the  true 
Christian,  however  inferior  in  dignity,  enters  quite  as 
much  into  the  plan  of  the  divine  Legislator.  .  .  . 

This  religion  of  self-denial  protects  all  that  it  reg- 
ulates, confirms  all  that  it  approves,  and  fortifies  all 
that  it  restrains  or  limits.  The  less  we  aim  at  happi- 
ness, the  more  it  causes  us  to  encounter  in  the  world  ; 
and  this  happiness  is  increased  in  proportion  as  we 
strive  to  lift  the  heart  rather  than  to  satisfy  it.  Chris- 
tianity treats  happiness  precisely  as  it  treats  the  body. 
It  forbids  man  to  give  more  than  a  secondary  place 
to  either.  Knowing  their  dubious  fidelity,  it  wills 
that  he  should  watch  them  both,  always  subjugate 
and  sometimes  sacrifice  them ;  and,  in  a  word,  that, 
in  his  relations  with  them,  he  should  continue  to  be 
lord  and  master. 

Christianity,  which  seems  to  despise  happiness,  and 


ON    RESIGNATION.  231 

treat  the  body  as  an  enemy,  honors  the  one  and  de- 
fends the  other,  more  than  any  other  cultus  or  system 
was  ever  known  to  do. 

What  a  divine  character  Christianity  imparts  to 
earthly  happiness  !  What  a  fond  sanction  it  gives 
to  all  the  heart's  lawful  affections  !  How  many  in- 
centives its  words  supply  to  constant  and  ever-grow- 
ing love  ! 

And  this  poor  human  body,  which,  one  would 
think,  Christianity  cared  only  to  subdue,  what  sys- 
tem, even  of  those  who  deified  it,  has  ever  awarded 
it  such  true  honor  as  the  Word,  who  associated  it  with 
his  own  divinity,  who  promises  it  resurrection,  and 
who  summons  it  by  those  sacraments,  whereof  the 
nature  is  always  twofold,  to  a  share  in  the  most  mar- 
vellous blessings  which  can  descend  upon  the  earth  ? 

God  neither  hates  nor  despises  aught  that  he  has 
created.  Nothing  is  too  little  or  abject  for  him  to 
raise  and  purify.  In  his  severities,  it  is  not  vengeance 
which  is  expressed  here  below,  nor  even  justice :  it 
is  always  his  love.  It  is  ever  by  a  less  degree  of  suf- 
fering, that  the  sinner  is  indemnified  for  the  deserved 
suffering  which  he  undergoes. 

The  whole  Catholic  system  has  been  so  arranged 
as  to  come  to  the  aid  of  the  human  creature,  in  the 
twofold  aspect  of  his  life  here  and  his  life  beyond. 
Its  ethics,  its  precepts,  its  counsels,  have  no  other 
end  than  this. 


232  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE; 

Those  virtues  which  have  been  exalted  above  the 
rest,  and  called  the  three  divine  virtues,  because  of 
their  regenerative  power,  contain  the  principle  of  the 
greatest  help  and  comfort  that  man  can  receive. 

Faith!  —  to  trust,  —  in  a  word,  to  lean,  — to  act 
under  an  ever-open  eye,  and  an  arm  always  ready  to 
lift  you  up.  To  feel  yourself  summoned  within  by  a 
voice  whose  accents  never  fail  to  move  you  in  the 
tempest  or  the  calm,  in  joy  or  in  tears  ;  to  have  a 
witness  who  attends  you,  a  defender  who  shields  you, 
a  confidant  who  hears  you  ;  a  friend  never  absent, 
never  dull,  never  mute,  who  not  merely  listens  but 
answers,  who  can  never  be  either  ignorant  or  ab- 
stracted, and  who  shows  you  in  the  world  a  fleeting 
vision,  and  reveals  that  eternity  where  joy  awaits  you. 

From  the  sweet  and  smiling  picture  which  even 
Error  has  drawn  of  Hope  ;  from  the  undeniable  ben- 
efits of  her  merely  natural  action ;  from  the  flowers 
with  which  she  can  strew  the  saddest  life  ;  from  her 
prism  so  rich  in  hues ;  from  that  fidelity  to  her  vo- 
cation which  renders  her  the  constant  and  unfailing 
companion  of  man  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  — 
it  is  easy  to  imagine  what  Christian  hope  must  be : 
holy  hope  with  the  terrestrial  element  gloriously 
transfigured.  No  illusions  does  she  invoke.  She 
requires  only  truth,  — that  truth  which  is  ever  fruit- 
ful and  inexhaustible.  Placed  between  Faith  and 
Charity,  Christian  Hope  is  the  reward  of  the  one 
and  the  prelude  to  the  other ;  or,  rather,  these  three 


ON    RESIGNATION.  233 

heavenly  sisters  mingle  their  rays,  and  borrow  splen- 
dor from  one  another. 

If  God  had  but  permitted  man  to  love  him,  it 
would  have  been  much.  But,  though  he  has  every- 
where deposited  the  germ  of  this  love,  he  develops, 
trains,  and  feeds  it  with  peculiar  care  in  the  hearts  of 
the  children  of  his  Church.  Who  does  not  know 
that  the  child  learns  to  love  only  at  its  mother's  knee  ? 
There  only  are  those  chaste  pleasures  prepared  which 
insure  unfailing  happiness  and  love. 

And  of  these  three  forms  of  human  felicity,  — 
faith,  hope,  and  charity,  —  Christianity  makes  duties, 
that  none  may  fail  thereof  save  by  his  own  fault. 
And,  in  the  practical  life  of  piety,  what  pains  are 
taken  to  warn  us,  to  shield  us  from  ourselves,  to 
apprise  us  of  our  dangers,  to  defend  us  at  the  tribu- 
nal of  pardon,  to  intoxicate  our  souls  at  the  sacred 
table,  to  ravish  the  imagination,  to  please  the  senses, 
to  speak  to  the  intellect,  and  console  the  heart ! 

And,  if  the  lyre  within  accords  ever  so  imperfectly 
with  the  divine  diapason,  what  a  delicious  calm  there 
is  in  self-possession,  in  the  feeling  of  a  harmonious 
equilibrium  between  all  the  powers  of  our  being ! 
What  freedom  within  us  thenceforth,  and  how  rich 
and  beautiful  the  world  appears  to  our  serene  and 
unembarrassed  gaze  ! 

When  the  heart  is  fervid  and  full  of  pious  ecstasy, 
how  enchanting  are  the  aspects  of  nature,  which  re- 
veal God  so  sweetly,  in  his  wonderful  works  ! 


234  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

What  resources  in  labor  !  What  varied  treasures 
offered  by  art,  science,  and,  above  all,  by  study, 
which  responds  so  perfectly  to  our  active  curios- 
ity, revealing,  moreover,  that  heaven  where  the  bliss 
of  knowledge  comes  next  to  that  of  love  ! 

And  this  for  all,  without  exception  or  privilege, 
for  peculiarly  favored  situations  !  This  is  our  share 
in  the  universal  patrimony ;  the  common  fund,  the 
heritage  of  all,  and  especially  of  those  who,  though 
they  share  largely  in  so  many  blessings,  are  often 
most  disposed  to  slight  them  ! 

The  instinct  which  causes  us  to  pursue  happiness 
is  a  proof  of  the  reality  of  happiness.  It  is  hardly 
to  be  supposed  that  we  imagine  something  which 
neither  has  been  nor  ever  will  be.  It  would  be 
creation  outside  of  nature.  If  the  iron  moves  and 
is  strongly  attracted,  it  is  because  the  magnet  exists. 

That  problem  of  the  supreme  good,  which  absorbed 
the  attention  of  antiquity,  is  wonderfully  solved  by 
Christianity,  which  reveals  to  us  at  once  a  perfectly 
beautiful  life,  and  a  perfectly  desirable  death.  It 
would  seem,  at  first  sight,  that  if  the  aspect  of  life 
were  fair,  we  should  dread  death,  which  is  its  term  ; 
and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  desire  of  death  must 
discourage  and  disenchant  us  in  respect  of  life.  From 
the  stand-point  of  humanity,  whose  esteem  centres  in 
transitory  good,  it  could  not  be  otherwise  :  it  would 
certainly  be  an  attempt  to  reconcile  incompatibilities. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  235 

But  under  the  Christian  system,  glowing  aspira- 
tions can  have  but  one  legitimate  object, — eternal 
bliss.  The  happiness  we  hope  in  death,  and  that 
which  we  receive  from  life,  without  being  identical, 
are  not  strangers  to  each  other,  for  the  possession  of 
God  is  the  foundation  of  them  both. 

Death  desirable  outside  of  Christianity  ?  Only  the 
unfortunate  can  admit  the  thought,  and  that  under 
inconceivable  conditions  of  trouble  and  despair ! 
They  look  upon  it  as  an  end ;  but  for  the  Christian 
it  is  at  once  the  beginning  and  the  fulfilment  of  all 
the  hopes  which  cross  the  realm  of  time. 

To  render  death  perfectly  desirable,  it  must  needs 
be  that,  as  with  the  many  saintly  souls  whose  pas- 
sage from  this  world  to  the  next  has  been  one  song* 
of  deliverance,  our  wealth  should  be  laid  up  else- 
where than  here  below,  and  our  hearts  following 
our  treasure.  And,  that  life  may  be  always  and 
supremely  beautiful,  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  must 
be  of  the  number  of  our  joys ;  the  vastness  of  our 
aim  must  react,  at  every  step,  upon  the  distance  to  be 
traversed  ;  and  our  personal  efforts,  the  miracles  of 
grace,  illusions  destroyed  and  true  blessings  truly  ap- 
preciated, —  must  concur  to  form  a  reality  of  blessed- 
ness, whereof  the  world  is  profoundly  ignorant,  and 
which  has  been  enjoyed  only  by  that  multitude,  that 
no  man  can  number,  who  people  the  celestial  city. 

"  The  angels,"  said  St.  Gregory  the  Great,  "  carry 
their  paradise  with  them  wherever  they  are  sent  by 


236  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

God,  because  they  never  cease  to  be  united  to  him." 
This  is  the  secret  of  lasting  joy. 

Christianity  is  not  a  barren,  speculative  theory. 
Every  one  of  its  dogmas  implies  a  virtue,  which 
is  commanded  to  manifest  itself  by  results. 

In  the  language  of  men,  whatever  is  not  flagrant 
rebellion  is  denominated  resignation ;  but,  in  sober 
Christian  speech,  the  words  used  to  express  ideas 
should,  as  in  the  sacramental  formulas,  effect  what 
they  signify.  Here,  then,  what  is  required  is  not 
merely  internal  acquiescence,  but  that  living  accept- 
ance which  shall  produce  its  proper  effects  of  light 
and  love. 

Nothing  can  come,  without  your  consent,  between 
the  thought  of  the  mind  and  the  wish  of  the  heart. 

In  that  spiritual  realm,  that  domain  which  none 
but  yourself  can  penetrate,  you  have  only  yourself 
to  conquer :  you  are  king  because  you  are  free. 
Nought  can  hinder  you  from  conforming  or  degrad- 
ing your  sentiments,  or  raising  them  to  the  height  of 
your  guiding  principles. 

Your  outward  behavior  is  susceptible  of  a  thou- 
sand interpretations  which  may  serve  as  your  excuse  ; 
but,  in  the  depths  of  your  being,  you  are  entirely 
responsible  for  the  impulses  you  obey.  There,  the 
slightest  discord  between  what  you  say  and  what 
you  feel  constitutes  a  lie ;  the  least  weakness,  a  pre- 


ON    RESIGNATION.  237 

varication ;  the  least  demur  to  one  of  God's  com- 
mands, a  denial  of  his  providence. 

And  if  a  wish  long  since  formed,  or  an  engagement 
undertaken,  already  bind  you ;  if,  moved  by  a  sacred 
charm,  you  have  employed  those  words,  so  tender 
and  sweet  to  the  lips,  of  entire  conformity,  of  sur- 
rendered will,  and  irrevocable  abandonment  to  the 
divine  wishes ;  —  What  do  I  say,  if  you  have  ever 
declared  to  God  that  his  will  was  yours,  and  that, 
having  yielded  once  for  all,  your  heaviest  punishment 
would  be  to  resume  guidance  of  yourself ;  if  these 
unreserved,  unconditioned,  unalterable  words  have 
been  uttered,  believe  me,  that  to  give,  and  yet  with- 
hold, will  avail  with  God  least  of  all. 

With  ability,  it  may  be  possible  to  prevent  men 
from  suspecting  aught  but  what  we  show  them ;  but 
a  jealous  God  sees  what  we  withhold  from  him  most 
clearly  in  what  we  offer. 

And  where  your  submission  is  judged  sufficient  at 
all  points,  are  you  not  inclined  and  impelled  to  do 
more  than  is  required  of  you,  to  clear  the  distance 
which  separates  precept  from  counsel,  the  obligatory 
from  the  optional?  The  precept  is  only  strict  justice, 
as  we  conceive  it  from  its  accomplishment  under  the 
ancient  law ;  but  counsel  with  its  free  spaces  is  the 
new  law,  whereby  we  receive  the  adoption  of  sons. 

All  science  has  its  definitive  experiments,  which 
give  it  the  force  of  law. 


238  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

In  the  science  of  Christianity,  it  is  perhaps  the 
Christian's  happiness  which  furnishes  the  most  in- 
contestable evidence  of  the  fidelity  of  God  to  his 
promises.  Reflection  shows  us  that  there  is  a  uni- 
versal argument  in  favor  of  the  truth,  —  accessible  to 
all  men  at  all  times,  but  which  belongs  exclusively 
to  the  servants  of  that  adorable  truth ;  displaying 
all  its  beneficence  and  profoundly  logical  power, 
defying  all  contradiction ;  the  irresistible  homage 
rendered  by  the  servant  to  his  master ;  and  that 
argument  is  the  internal  but  visible  bliss  enjoyed  by 
the  true  Christian. 

Outside  of  Christianity,  happiness  cannot  be  abso- 
lute, for  nowhere  else  is  there  a  sufficient  counter- 
poise for  the  immense  weight  of  human  misery. 
Here  only,  there  is  a  lever  powerful  enough  to  lift 
our  fallen  nature  to  those  immeasurable  heights  where 
the  world's  true  proportions  are  revealed. 

A  free  spirit,  a  sweet  and  even  temper,  a  counte- 
nance of  content,  express  order  without  and  peace 
within.  This  steady  and  sustained  bearing  —  which 
is  not  merely  the  effort  of  a  few  moments,  but  the 
reality  of  all,  since  it  cannot  come  by  nature,  which 
is  ever  full  of  vicissitudes  —  must  be  attributed  to 
grace ;  or  at  least  to  some  superior  principle,  which 
the  most  prejudiced  are  forced  to  acknowledge. 

Happiness  is  a  thing  so  uncommon,  and  so  highly 
esteemed,  that  it  cannot  be  seen  without  causing 


ON   RESIGNATION.  239 

remark,  without  raising  the  question  whence  it  comes 
and  whither  it  goes.  The  most  uncultivated  as  well 
as  the  most  refined  minds,  those  whose  nature  is 
most  serious  as  well  as  those  least  inclined  to  trouble 
their  heads  about  abstract  truth,  are  forced  to  seek 
for  the  source  of  so  rare  a  prodigy. 

Observe  that,  in  consequence  of  social  degeneracy, 
the  other  means  which  truth  has  at  command  have 
acquired  an  infirm,  intermittent,  questionable  charac- 
ter. Speech  ?  How  it  has  been  abused !  Does  it 
not  often  add  to  the  difficulty  of  comprehension  ? 
Acts  ?  It  so  happens  that  they  excite  equal  distrust, 
so  nicely  can'  they  be  calculated  to  conceal  personal 
interest.  Beliefs?  They  too  can  be  feigned  in  the 
interest  of  order  and  public  peace.  The  imagina- 
tion may  be  enthralled  by  the  beauties  of  religion 
as  well  as  by  many  others.  Large  and  bold  openings 
may  be  made  into  all  the  realms  of  the  sublime,  with- 
out carrying  to  the  mind  the  conviction  of  a  single, 
focal  centre,  burning  and  blessing  at  the  same  time. 

In  speculative  statements,  every  thing  may  be  con- 
troverted and  rendered  debatable ;  but  when,  to  the 
eyes  of  this  greedy  or  prosperity -laden  world,  which 
is,  none  the  less,  sad,  unquiet,  weary,  accustomed 
to  see  in  every  rule  an  insupportable  yoke,  and  in 
the  life  of  duty  only  a  fastidious  monotony ;  when 
you,  the  representative  of  all  that  world  rejects  and 
despises,  show  that  you  at  least  possess  the  happi- 
ness which  it  seeks  and  from  which  it  flies,  imagine 


240  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

the  impression  you  produce  !  What  sight  like  that 
of  the  flower  of  peace,  the  bright  serenity  of  the 
Christian  under  the  pressure  of  calamity,  privation, 
age,  illness,  and  the  sombre  elements  which  go  to 
make  up  the  life  of  man  ! 

A  joy  which  is  rooted  within,  which  neither  dis- 
plays itself  nor  hides  itself,  but  merely  suffers  obser- 
vation, whose  permanence  has  already  something  of 
celestial  immutability,  bewilders  men,  yet  causes 
them  to  reflect.  They  find  themselves  at  a  loss  how 
to  explain,  on  human  grounds,  so  strange  a  phe- 
nomenon. They  begin  to  comprehend  that  it  must 
have  some  mysterious  and  divine  element ;  and  the 
hidden  agent  of  these  marvellous  effects  comes  near 
revealing  his  deity,  as  Jesus  did  to  the  centurion  at 
the  crucifixion. 

Yes  :  there  is,  in  this  world,  a  silent  apostolate,  a 
living,  legible  creed,  an  incessant  and  persuasive 
preaching ;  and  it  is  the  natural  irradiation  of  a  deep 
and  genuine  content.  Christians  and  children  of  the 
Church,  the  joy  which  we  taste  in  her  service  is,  of 
all  our  acts  of  homage,  the  least  open  to  suspicion, 
the  most  just,  the  most  grateful.  Never  will  the 
immortal  hopes  to  which  we  offer  the  sacrifice  of 
our  piety  be  so  clearly  announced  by  our  speech, 
as  by  the  contrast  between  our  known  sufferings, 
and  the  radiant  tranquillity  of  that  repose  which 
passes  from  the  heart  into  the  face. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  241 

Whatever  trials  we  may  undergo,  however  we 
may  be  stripped  of  consolation,  support,  and  desert, 
is  there  not  left  us  the  lot  of  those  stars  of  which  the 
Prophet  speaks,  "which,  being  bright,  and  sent  to 
do  their  offices,  are  obedient." l  Let  us  ever  be 
ready  to  say  with  Bourdaloue,  "I  know  not,  O  my 
God  !  whether  Thou  art  content  with  me  :  I  acknowl- 
edge freely  that  Thou  hast  reason  to  be  otherwise ; 
but  as  for  me,  O  my  God  !  I  must  confess  to  Thy 
glory,  that  I  am  content  with  Thee,  and  that  per- 
fectly. It  matters  little  to  Thee  whether  I  am  this  or 
no ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  the  most  glorious  testimony 
that  I  can  render,  for  to  say  that  I  am  content  with 
Thee  is  to  say  that  Thou  art  my  God,  since  none 
but  a  God  could  content  me." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

IS  RESIGNATION  COMPATIBLE  WITH  PRAYER  THAT 
GOD  WILL  REMOVE  THE  EVIL  WHICH  AFFLICTS  OR 
THREATENS  US  ? 

SUCH  a  doubt  could  only  occur  to  those  who, 
with  lofty  intent,  should  essay  to  walk  in  the  way 
of  the  perfect.  It  is  akin  to  those  generous  illu- 
sions which  have  misled  many  souls,  and  caused 
them  to  miss  their  mark  by  overshooting  it. 

1  Baruch. 
11 


242  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

Motionless  and  speechless,  renunciation  often 
becomes  a  snare,  like  disinterestedness,  to  ardent 
love.  But  Christianity  is  not  a  series  of  initiations, 
in  which,  keeping  no  account  of  progress  made, 
we  cast  aside,  like  useless  scaffolding,  all  the  meth- 
ods which  we  employed  to  arrive  at  the  point  last 
gained. 

All  the  teachings  of  Christianity,  like  its  dogmas 
and  its  duties,  have,  so  to  speak,  the  simultaneity 
of  God  himself.  The  greatest  virtues  will  never 
excuse  the  lack  of  the  least :  martyrdom,  gloriously 
met,  would  not  exempt  from  obedience  to  the  Church's 
lightest  law;  and,  if  you  had  climbed  to  the  third 
heaven,  its  ecstatic  orisons  would  not  enable  you  to 
dispense  with  the  prayer  of  the  humble.  Every 
day,  morning  and  evening,  you  would  still  need  to 
say,  "Forgive  me  my  debts  as  I  forgive  my  debtors. 
Lead  me  not  into  temptation  ; "  still  beginning  anew 
where  all  the  world  begins  in  your  obedience  to  God's 
commands,  though,  by  his  goodness,  you  may  have 
been  called  upon  to  speak,  and  to  feel  better  than 
any  other. 

But,  aside  from  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  phi- 
losophical considerations  which  run  parallel  with  the 
route  which  faith  alone  can  discover  to  our  eyes,  we 
must  remember  that,  in  Christianity,  whose  teach- 
ings are  essentially  historical,  authoritative  example 
constitutes  law. 


ON    RESIGNATION.  243 

So  when  we  see  Jesus  pleading  with  his  Father- 
to  remove  the  cup  from  his  lips,  or  crying  out  upon 
the  cross  with  a  groan  of  despair,  "My  God,  why 
hast  thou  forsaken  me,"  can  the  Christian  doubt  that 
his  adorable  Master  has  sanctioned  prayer  even  as  a 
plaint,  an  inarticulate  wish,  or  a  cry  for  help  by 
human  sensibility? 

We  see  the  Church  praying  for  the  deliverance  of 
Peter,  as  erewhile  she  prayed  in  the  upper  chamber 
for  purely  spiritual  blessings ;  and  it  seems  as  if 
prayer  were  an  act  so  excellent  that  God  blesses  it 
even  when  he  will  not  hear. 

It  is  not,  of  course,  to  rebellion  that  God  says, 
"Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,"  but  to  submission 
"Knock!"  He  says,  moreover,  And  if  the  door  at 
which  you  knock  resists,  your  words,  your  entreaties 
will  none  the  less  be  reckoned  in  the  supply  of  other 
needs,  which  you,  perchance,  do  not  see  so  clearly. 
Prayer  fructified  by 'grace  is  the  mediator  between 
man  and  Christ,  as  Christ  himself  is  the  mediator 
between  God  and  the  world. 

God  has  appointed  honors  and  rewards  for  the 
exercise  of  the  virtues.  He  has  invested  these  with 
prerogatives,  but  prayer  he  has  treated  more  muni- 
ficently. Visibly  modifying  under  its  influence  the 
severity  of  his  decrees,  allowing  himself  to  be  swayed 
by  intercession,  he  gives  it,  we  may  venture  to  say, 
a  claim  upon  himself.  Thus,  not  only  does  prayer 
move  and  shake  God  in  his  designs,  and  induce  him 


244  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

to  suspend  their  execution,  but  human  prayer  is  also 
at  the  bottom  of  almost  every  miracle.  It  would 
seem  as  if  God,  after  creating  the  obedience  of  the 
saints,  longed  to  taste  its  delights. 

For  how  has  he  shown  himself  to  us  ?  "  Obedient 
unto  the  death  of  the  cross."  And  since  then?  At 
the  voice  of  the  priest,  he  descends  to  the  altar. 
At  the  voice  of  man,  he  heals  and  makes  amends. 

"When  I  see,"  said  St.  Catherine  of  Genoa,  "how 
lovingly  and  carefully  he  makes  all  possible  provision 
for  leading  us  to  his  own  country,  I  am,  as  it  were, 
constrained  to  say,  that  this  good  God  seems  to  be 
our  servant." 

In  cases  of  extraordinary  favor  and  marked  predi- 
lection, we  can  hardly  suppose  that  God,  in  whom 
there  is  always  a  union  of  knowledge  and  foreknowl- 
edge, is  not  influenced  by  the  merit  of  him  who  is 
their  object,  and  that  the  latter  does  not  prevail,  up 
to  a  certain  point,  by  prayer. 

Miracles  are  earthly  in  their  nature.  We  have  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  there  are  any  in  heaven. 
Miracle  enters  into  the  number  of  our  prerogatives, 
our  chances,  and,  consequently,  of  our  hopes.  Let 
us  try  to  deserve  to  have  this  divine  force  pause  at 
us,  —  that  God  should  permit  us  to  be  its  conduc- 
tors ;  and  as,  under  the  ancient  law,  all  who  belonged 
to  the  numerous  and  royal  house  of  David,  might 
hope  to  give  birth  to  the  Messiah,  let  us  strive  to 


ON    RESIGNATION.  245 

render  less  impure  the  channels  through  which  the 
divine  pity  may  flow,  either  to  stop  with  us  or  to 
pass  on. 

Moreover,  how  can  prayer  ever  be  qualified  as 
inopportune?  Is  it  not  always  the  highest  glorifica- 
tion of  God's  power? 

It  would  be  a  false  spirituality,  indeed,  which  should 
lead  us  to  consider,  in  the  light  of  an  imperfection,  a 
recourse  to  prayer  in  the  case  of  those  preferences 
which  pertain  to  the  world  of  sense.  Human  things, 
aside  from  those  which  must  be  rejected  as  bad  or 
suspicious  in  themselves,  are  divided  into  superior 
and  inferior,  —  into  interests  which  affect  the  heart, 
and  such  as  appeal  only  to  the  vanity. 

Earthly  prosperity  excites  this  vanity ;  not  so  the 
profound  and  legitimate  sentiments  of  the  heart. 
Why,  then,  should  we  not  intercede  for  the  objects  of 
our  pure  and  lively  affection,  with  regard  not  merely 
to  their  spiritual,  but  to  their  human  interests  ;  not 
merely  that  we  may  win  for  them  immortal  life,  but 
that  we  may  protect  and  prolong  their  days  upon 
the  earth. 

And,  as  we  pray  for  others,  why  should  it  not  be 
lawful  to  pray  for  ourselves?  —  to  ask  of  God  to 
avert  the  misfortune  which  we  dread,  and  continue 
us  the  comfort  to  which  we  cling? 

The  God  of  the  Christian  is  not  the  passionless, 
pantheistic  God  of  nature  ;  nor  must  the  Christian 


246  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

incur  the  risk  of  mistaking  insensibility  for  virtue. 
He  is  greater  than  the  world,  but  he  shrinks  not  from 
contact  with  it ;  and,  following  the  example  of  his 
Master,  he  loves  it,  that  he  may  bless,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, save  it.  In  the  midst  of  his  most  glowing 
ardors,  the  Christian  acknowledges  that  the  interests 
which  touch  us  most  nearly  are  the  most  salient  and 
clearest  to  our  eyes ;  he  perceives,  moreover,  the 
worth  which  resides  in  inferior  blessings,  when  'we 
possess  them  lawfully,  and  enjoy  them  discreetly, 
and  does  not  invent  a  gratuitous  incompatibility 
between  our  salvation,  and  what  God  gives  us  for 
our  happiness. 

So  true  is  this,  that  often  we  may  safely  say 
that  the  loftiest  purposes  have  been  effectually  sub- 
served by  temporal  goods.  Thus,  the  life  of  one  is  a 
powerful  aid ;  the  health  vouchsafed  another  has 
been  the  means  of  many  a  worthy  deed ;  and  the 
fortune  well  employed  has  covered  more  than  one 
transgression. 

Prayer,  which  is  both  spiritual  and  emotional,  is 
the  manifestation  of  the  two  men,  whom  the  best  of 
us  bear  within.  The  one  represents  too  often  the 
unweakened  opposition  of  nature  ;  the  other  springs 
to  the  eternal  spaces.  The  one  still  clings  to  his 
possessions,  and  reviews  his  past  as  a  part  of  him- 
self; the  other,  self-emancipated,  betakes  himself  to 
hope,  rather  than  memory.  The  one  is  accessible  on 


ON    RESIGNATION.  247 

all  sides,  and  impressible  at  all  points  ;  the  other, 
self-collected, — living  a  life  of  profound  and  inex- 
haustible spiritual  intensity,  and  integrity. 

These  two  men  are  not  always  at  ease  with  one 
another ;  nor  are  we  at  ease  with  them.  Yet,  how- 
ever great  the  apparent  difference  in  their  centres  of 
gravity,  they  both  pray,  and  God  hears  them.  The 
prayer  of  the  first  is  always  articulate  :  that  of  the 
second  is  voiceless  and  speechless  ;  and,  while  the 
former  grows  weary  of  what  it  calls  its  useless 
desires,  the  latter  never  wearies,  for  its  desire  is 
eternity,  —  eternity,  whose  inspirations  bring  with 
them  the  patience  of  the  saints !  If  we  do  not 
already  belong  too  clearly  and  decidedly  to  one  or 
the  other  of  these  two  men,  let  us  attempt  to  con- 
ciliate and  make  them  live  in  harmony.  Let  the  one 
elevate  and  purify  the  other,  while  the  latter  insures, 
by  slightly  retarding,  his  brother's  progress. 

God  desires  us  to  speak  to  him  without  reserve. 
Those  goods  which  are  capable  of  becoming  objects 
of  sacrifice,  need  none  the  less  have  been,  originally, 
objects  of  perfectly  lawful  desire.  If  we  have  smoth- 
ered longings,  let  them  not  be  such  as  we  have  con- 
cealed, but  such  as  we  have  renounced.  We  ought 
to  be  able  to  bring  all  that  is  within  us  to  God,  and 
surrender  it  to  his  influence,  either  for  opposition  or 
consecration. 

He  not  only  permits,  but  commands,  us  to  reveal 


248  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

to  him  our  needs,  our  desires,  our  aversions,  our 
sorrows.  He  even  goes  so  far  as  to  allow  us  to  tell 
him  our  most  fugitive  and  idle  thoughts.  'Yea,  even 
dreams  and  chimeras  we  may  unfold,  nor  fear  the 
accusation  of  audacity. 

If  it  is  true  that  w  God  punishes  unwise  prayers  by 
hearing  them,"  as  the  Scripture  says,  it  is  not 
the  prayer  itself,  nor  its  imperfection,  nor  even  our 
error,  which  can  produce  such  an  effect ;  for  God  in 
his  goodness  often  allows  us  to  be  innocently  mis- 
taken ;  and  if  the  fulfilment  of  our  wishes  comes  in 
the  form  of  punishment,  it  comes  as  the  consequence 
of  faults  and  errors  far  other  than  those  of  imperfect, 
familiar,  and  inconsiderate  prayer. 

If  we  reveal  our  hearts  to  him,  we  make  sure  of 
the  strongest  claim  on  his  indulgence.  We  may  do 
this  unreservedly.  God  lays  no  snares  for  our  feet. 
It  is  a  beautiful  and  affecting  miracle  of  the  divine 
economy,  that,  spite  of  the  immeasurable  distance 
that  divides  us,  God  can  act  on  us,  and  we  on 
him. 

The  sweetest  charm  of  human  relations  is  doubt- 
less the  twofold  influence  mutually  exercised  by  those 
who  love ;  the  solicitude  and  affection  constantly 
expressed  by  a  movement  of  action  and  reaction. 
And  when  we  reflect  that  the  spiritual  life  is  nothing 
else  than  this  ;  that  it  is  all  comprised  in  the  grace 
which  descends,  and  the  love  which  ascends  with  cor- 


ON    RESIGNATION.  249 

responding  fidelity ;  that  God  has  so  arranged  the 
affairs  of  this  world,  that  his  intercourse  with  his 
creatures  may  have  all  the  tenderness  and  intimacy 
of  two  hearts  that  meet  and  mingle,  — we  know  not 
in  what  words  to  depict  our  gratitude. 

God  first  loved  us.  He  came  to  dwell  with  us. 
He  is  still  in  our  midst.  It  is  his  delight  to  converse 
with  man.  "DelicicB  mece  esse  cum  filiis  hominum." 
He  takes  pleasure  in  intercourse  with  his  children, 
whom  he  is  ever  returning  to  seek.  Not  only  does 
he  say  Ephpheta,  not  merely  does  he  open  their  ears  : 
he  loosens  the  tongue,  and  applies  his  redemptive 
virtue  to  every  infirmity.  What,  then,  is  there  to 
hinder  so  sacred  a  familiarity? 

God  would  be  swayed,  God  would  be  sued :  it  is 
due  to  his  justice,  and  his  original  designs  for  man. 
God  wills  that  Moses,  and  the  man  who  was  born 
blind,  Nineveh,  and  the  woman  of  Canaan,  the  town, 
the  world,  all  ages,  and  all  tongues,  should  pray. 
The  Scriptures  reproduce  this  truth  under  every 
variety  of  aspect,  because  prayer  may  assume  any 
form  and  any  voice,  and  be  translated  into  any  and 
all  the  acts  which  emanate  from  the  heart  of  man. 
Thus  almsgiving  is  prayer;  penitence  is  prayer; 
sacrifice,  endurance,  submission, — all  alike  pray. 
Every  conscientious  meditation  on  our  faults,  every 
effort  at  amendment,  every  conquest  over  self,  is 
prayer,  and  avails  as  such. 
11* 


250  WRITINGS    OF   MADAME    SWETCHINE. 


We  aspire  through  prayer;  we  respire  through 
resignation.  Let  us  pray  with  all  the  intensity  of 
which  we  are  capable,  with  no  fear  that  our  trust 
will  be  belied.  God  regulates,  directs,  and  purifies 
our  ardor,  but  never  checks,  in  order  to  perfect  it. 
Only  let  us  be  watchful  of  our  most  urgent  entrea- 
ties and  eager  desires,  lest  they  interfere  with  our 
submission. 

Prayer,  with  the  Christian,  is  the  calm  and  con- 
fident gaze  of  the  child  upon  his  father ;  of  the  sick 
man  who  discloses  his  malady,  and  interrogates  his 
physician ;  of  the  friend  who  invokes  his  friend's 
presence  :  because  all  help  is  therein  implied.  When 
our  desires  are  of  a  mixed  nature,  we  must  see  to  it 
that  the  void  of  our  longings  is  not  filled  with  the 
debris  of  partially  consumed  passions  ;  and  that  a 
blind  and  persistent  wish  for  success  does  not  in- 
duce, in  the  course  of  its  conflict  with  obstacles, 
those  violent  internal  oscillations,  which  seem  to 
threaten  us  at  once  with  conflagration,  and  with 
darkness. 

Let  us  pray ;  but  let  us  pray  according  to  the  will 
of  God,  and  in  his  spirit.  To  reveal  our  wishes,  to 
hope,  and  to  trust,  is  holy,  pious,  filial ;  but  to  reckon 
on  the  fulfilment  of  those  wishes,  and  expect  it  as  if 
that  fulfilment  were  our  due,  is  quite  another  thing. 
It  is  to  pass  from  the  love  which  believeth  all  things, 
and  hopeth  all  things,  to  an  irreverent  and  exacting 


ON    RESIGNATION.  251 

mood,  in  which  we  show  no  proper  sense  of  divine 
things.  To  expect  is  to  demand  God's  coming ;  it  is 
to  give  him  our  time,  instead  of  accepting  his. 
Adorable,  even  in  his  merciful  tardiness,  his  good- 
ness defers  what  it  seems  to  refuse. 


CONCLUSION. 

.  .  .  Suffering  is  profitable  unto  all  things.  Suf- 
fering teaches  us  how  to  suffer,  to  live,  and  to 
die.  .  .  .  Even  if  we  could  enter  heaven  by  any 
other  door  than  that  of  tribulation,  our  very  love 
for  God  should  deprive  us  of  all  thought  or  desire 
of  so  doing ;  for  it  is  thus  that  our  divine  Master, 
and,  after  him,  all  the  saints,  have  entered,  bearing 
the  cross,  and  treading  a  way  strewn  with  thorns. 

What  examples  are  they,  which  the  Scripture  pro- 
poses for  our  imitation  ?  Are  they  not  those  of  hearts 
ready  for  every  species  of  heroic  sacrifice  and  self- 
immolation?  Could  suffering  impose  a  check  on 
Abraham  or  on  Job  ?  Did  not  grief  wrino*  from 

o  c? 

David  his  most  magnificent  utterances ;  and  have 
not  all  the  martyrs  of  the  new  law  had  one  «and  the 
same  experience  of  trial  ? 

Is  it  not  suffering,  which,  more  than  all  other 
agents,  tends  to  identify  the  feelings  of  the  Saviour, 
and  those  of  his  ransomed  creature,  —  which  enables 
us  to  realize  the  miracle  of  assimilation?  In  what 
other  aspect  could  our  lives  resemble  that  of  Christ  ? 


252  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

How  else  could  our  souls  be  identified  with  his,  and 
attain  to  a  comprehension  of  it?  What  have  we  of 
the  sanctity,  the  profound  condescension,  the  burning 
love  of  Jesus?  And  what  has  he  of  our  pride,  our 
laxity,  our  ingratitude,  our  rebellion? 

Apart  from  grace,  nothing,  save  suffering  and  its 
mighty  plenitude,  can  fill  the  abyss  between  the  God- 
man  and  his  imitators.  It  is  through  suffering  that 
God  is  most  human.  It  is  through  suffering  that 
man  comes  nearest  to  God. 

Ask  of  the  earthly  affections,  whether  the  dread 
of  suffering  ever  hindered  a  generous  soul  in  its 
love,  and  whether  an  infallible  sign  of  the  heart's 
interest  be  not  the  utter  contempt  of  obstacles  and 
sacrifices. 

And  then  it  would  be  vain  to  deny  that  there  is  in 
our  nature  a  certain  inclination  towards  suffering, 
—  a  kind  of  stray  echo,  as  it  were,  of  that  primordial 
justice,  which  devotes  us  to  expiation. 

And  so,  despite  our  greed  of  happiness,  despite 
our  repugnance  toward  trials  that  are  only  too  need- 
ful, all  our  joys  end  in  satiety  ;  and  there  is  not  a 
lofty,  d^ep,  or  pure  sentiment  of  our  nature,  which 
pleasure  does  not  affect  with  a  sacred  sadness. 

This  secret  charm  of  ineffable  unrest  mingles  with 
the  affections  of  all  rare  spirits.  The  elements  of 
gladness  and  of  melancholy  exist  in  the  same  heart, 
and  often  side  by  side.  They  mingle  with  its  sub- 
stance ;  and,  if  mutually  contradictory,  so  much  the 


ON    RESIGNATION.  253 

better  do  they  symbolize  the  blessed  inconsequence 
of  our  twofold  nature. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  pursuits  of  pleasure  and 
ambition ;  in  the  midst  of  every  variety  of  vain  and 
false  estimate,  —  it  is  those  who  run  the  career  of  the 
prosperous,  who  are  surest  to  be  devoured  by  disgust 
of  the  same,  under  the  very  eyes  of  the  giddy  and 
envious  public. 

But  question  the  pious  souls,  and  they  will  tell 
you  of  the  wealth,  the  life,  the  peace  borne  on  the 
breast  of  that  river  of  God,  whose  stream  is  always 
full.  Oh  why  is  not  love  more  beloved?  Desolation 
and  sterility  would  vanish  from  the  earth  I  ... 

Doubtless  there  would  be  found  an  astonishing 
number  of  minds  ready  to  proclaim  the  beauty  of  the 
divine  law,  and  the  magnificent  authority  of  its  pur- 
poses, if  the  splendors  which  enchant  the  poet,  and 
the  speculative  truths  which  fascinate  the  philosopher, 
were  not  accompanied  by  a  severe  code  of  morals, 
and  the  duty  of  self-renunciation  and  humility. 
When  man  is  in  the  truth,  the  leadings  of  the  heart's 
inclinations  coincide  with  those  of  reason,  as  con- 
sulted by  an  unbiassed  mind. 

Ah,  how  happy  and  how  great  would  humanity 
be,  if  able  to  translate  into  persevering  action  its 
vague  instincts,  its  fleeting  emotions,  its  passing 
aspirations  towards  the  heavenly  country  !  What  a 


254  WRITINGS    OF    MADAME    SWETCHINE. 

sight  would  not  this  earth  present,  if  all  who  waste 
themselves  in  fruitless  labor  were  striving  to  com- 
prehend God  !  —  to  impart  the  joy  he  gives,  to  gather 
in  from  all  quarters  his  children,  his  worshippers, 
and  his  elect ;  and  to  reveal  to  so  many  unconscious 
hearts  that  they  have  what  they  seek  ! 

How  full  of  rapture  would  be  this  noble  destiny, 
—  this  so  natural  and  powerful  manifestation  of  the 
inner  life  !  It  would  be  the  soul's  hosanna  sung  in 
every  metre ;  it  would  be  a  living  and  sublime  lyric, 
a  new  hymn,  a  universal  language,  in  which  the  suc- 
cession of  our  deeds  would  unceasingly  express  the 
glory  of  God. 

f?Do  you  not  feel,"  said  Saint  Madeleine,  of  Pazzi, 
"  the  infinite  sweetness  that  is  contained  in  those 
dear  words,  f  the  divine  will'?" 

How  easy  it  is  to  understand  that  holy  bishop  who, 
forgetting,  or  abdicating  his  own  individuality,  de- 
sired men  to  call  him  by  no  other  name  than  this, 
Quod  Dem  vult.  .  .  .  Is  there  in  all  the  world  a 
tenderer  prayer,  or  one  more  impressed  with  divine 
sympathy,  than  this,  —  "My  Father,  thy  will  be 
done  "  ?  A  prayer  which  God  himself  has  taught  us, 
a  talisman  which  enables  us  to  banish  his  justice 
and  summon  his  love.  "  Thy  will  be  done  "  !  Inces- 
sant miracle  of  a  God  who  deigns  to  will,  and  a 
rebellious  creature  rising  to  the  height  of  obedience  ! 
A  sovereign  prayer  in  its  seeming  self-annihilation. 


ON   RESIGNATION.  255 


O  will  of  Him  we  love,  which  is  always  known, 
though  not  always  understood  ;  will,  whose  justice 
we  may  confide  in,  whose  mysteries  we  adore;  will 
which,  to  gain  heaven,  we  would  not  intercept ;  ador- 
able will,  law  of  all  beings,  beatitude  of  the  elect ; 
will  which  constitutes  the  glory  of  the  place  which 
it  assigns,  and  the  power  of  the  sacrifices  it  com- 
mands,—  will  of  my  God,  involve  mine  own,  more 
swiftly  than  the  world  issued  from  chaos,  or  the 
light  sprang  forth  at  thy  voice,  or  than  the  joys  of 
heaven  cause  the  saints  to  forget  the  gloom  of  the 
passage  thither.  Will  of  my  God,  be  mine,  and 
continue  till  my  latest  breath  to  initiate  me  into  the 
secret  of  thy  growing  delights  ! 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


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